TenTonHammer.com - Taking MMO Gamers to the Next Level!

Well it happened again, as it inevitably does when someone who disagrees with something that I write manages to get a hold of any real life personal information on me...

They tell me to grow up.

"I'm sick of your type and this newest trend. You are 34 years old. What kind of example do you set for your children? They need a father not a little brother. I realize that we are in an age of the hedonistic adult child. It is cool and socially acceptable of the times for you to play your stupid video games and make juvenile attempts at humor by showing pictures of the female breast. But you are an adult. So act like one. Grow up and be the man that you physically are."

...

....

That was...scathing. I actually read that passage and other parts of the e-mail sent to me by a reader who was referred by a friend and went "...awwww." And felt really bad about myself, my habits, and the choices I've made in life.

...

For about two seconds. Then I got mad.

In fact, I’m not answering this for ME – but for GUYS everywhere who get looked at funny for playing with the action figures in the store or waiting in line for a midnight release of a video game. This one, yo, goes out to tha BRUTHAS.

What is so great about growing up?

Don't get me wrong, I don't have "Peter Pan Syndrome" in the LEAST. I don't want to be a child and do weird things like play with little boys or get into sexual fetishes that involve a stern older woman calling me naughty and changing my purposely soiled diaper.

'Cause THAT is just GROSS.

If some dude is suckin' on a binky and wearing a bonnet and you see him happily gurgling in baby talk and calling for his mother - you are legally obligated to kick him really hard in the nads and steal his woobie while laughing at him like that evil Ginger Kid from A Christmas Story. Just make sure he's really a grown up because kids are getting big QUICK these days and the last thing you want on your record is an incident involving a playground and some toddler's mashed grapes.

I don't want to be a baby, or even a kid for that matter because being a kid SUCKED. Everyone told you what to do, you had no money or freedom, and you got a huge zit on your nose just in time for the prom so that your already gangly and dorky "man/boy" form earned you the cruel nickname of "Rudolf" for like a YEAR.

Being a kid sucked. But being a grownup sucks even more.

You have to pay bills and get weird little hairs in your ear. YOUR EAR. Who gets EAR HAIR at 34? Why did my body suddenly decide that "Hey, these ears aren't nearly warm enough! We should grow a fur coat!" and leave me with a permanent pair of ear muffs? And why are they like really HARD wiry hairs like Jeff Goldblum started growing in The Fly? I don't have hair that coarse and tough ANYWHERE on my doughy white body. Seriously, it's like I'm budding a brilo pad or something.

F*** ear hair. F*** back hair and receding hairlines and bank statements showing the purchase of a shiny new red car.

I don't WANT to be a man. I want to be a GUY.

 I want to be a child who has grown into adulthood physically, matured to the point where he is an adult, but still has an open mind, a playful spirit, and money enough to buy the toys and video games he couldn't afford as a child. I want to laugh and have fun, and yes - be a bit juvenile from time to time. (And by time to time I mean always.)

And what exactly is wrong with THAT?

Society seems to think that there is some magical switch that gets thrown in a man's life where he instantly stops laughing at fart jokes and picks up the Wall Street Journal and a cup of black coffee...

Well I'll tell you flat out - THAT is never going to happen.

Because black coffee is just GROSS.

Oh sure it's manly and you look all gruff and tough like a weathered cowboy squinting into the sunset around a campfire, but it still tastes like hot, bitter, ASS. If there was a Little Starbucks on the Prairie, I guarantee that even the toughest and manliest of frontiersmen would be blowing the foam off of a caramel vanilla mocha frapachino latte as they dumped in gallons upon gallons of flavored creamer. Which in hindsight is probably how the whole "Brokeback Mountain" thing started, so we'll blur past that last point.

There is no magical switch that stops farts from being funny and makes you read the stock pages. And if there was, I'd be flipping it on and off as fast as I could in attempts to make Mr. Blackcoffee Realman rip one so loud that the Dow Jones would drop a point. (**Note** I have no idea what a Dow Jones is. But Dow is the chemical company that makes mace, so I wouldn't dick with it. **End Note**)

Wearing an expensive suit and reading the New York Times doesn't make you a man, and it in no way makes you a grown up. Chances are in fact, that it makes you a petty elitist douchebag, and that just ain't me baby.

I'm a guy. A REAL guy. A fart loving, car crash watching, prank pulling, boobie oggling member of society who has learned that life isn't serious, and if you treat it that way you end up with some dude's finger up your butt as he tells you that your prostate is just fine, but you should still probably get the multi-opti-pupil-optomy just in case.

Ain't no man gunna take that route with me.

So to the woman who sent me this letter, I ask you honestly:

"Can I see your boobs?"

You say that your friend sent you here to read my daily ramblings because she thought that I was funny, even if you do not. She sent you here and instead of smiling and laughing you were offended and appalled and see "obvious intellect and talent being squandered on things that don't matter".

Well your friend is either an AMAZING friend, or a dumbass.

They either A) worry about your sense of humor and are trying to get you to lighten up or 3) don't know you from Eve (the chick with the leaves in the bibble, not the game) and had no clue that your sense of humor as surgically removed.

I'm not following a trend in society, or reverting to childhood, or shunning my duties as an adult. I'm simply me, being me, and trying to laugh a little bit each day. And while it pains me to do so - I can be serious, focused, and extremely mature and grown up when the need arises.

But you?

I bet you have ear hair.

Sucks doesn't it?

-Coyote

I love Mass Effect, and not just for its obvious intergalactic orgy potential...

But I almost didn't buy it.

You see, I had planned on buying the game right from the start, and seeing it hit the consoles before it hit the PC just made me want it all the more. It had everything that I was looking for in a role playing game, amazing graphics and dialogue and a unique twist to a theme that is seldom done correctly: Outer Space. So if I was that excited about the game and wanted to play it that much, why did I almost pass it up?

Because the Copyright Protection was more Effed up than a kissing booth at a family reunion.

It was going to be released as a single player game with no online content, that still had to be repeatedly activated online in order to play it. Long periods of time off line would kick up the reactivation warnings and you were going to be constantly asked to prove that yes, you did indeed BUY the game.

It was a huge pain in the ass and invasion of privacy and trust designed to keep the dreaded "Pirates" from stealing the game and playing it for free. The problem was, the only ones that it inconvenienced were the people who actually BOUGHT the game, as the auto-check feature was quickly decoded and deactivated by those it was intended to stop. The community threw a huge fit, added our names to a boycott list - and Bioware and EA Games ACTUALLY CHANGED the activation process.

How is THAT for progress?

We balked, listed our reasons and threatened sales on their product and they LISTENED to us and made it all better for those of us who were actually planning on buying the game. I was so impressed that a company would actually listen to feedback as well as they did that I bought my copy of Mass Effect on DVD and played the living snot out of it.

And now I'm boycotting EA Game's SPORE for the same frigging reason.

As much as I looked forward to the game, and making my very own self humping assman of planet Boobatoid 69, and as much fun and enjoyment that I got out of the 10 dollar sampler creature creator that I bought...

I'm boycotting the game.

Because EA Games has lined up for the Twit Olympics once again.

Spore, a single player non-interactive with others game that you play by yourself without the need to be online, has one of the most restrictive activation process to date.

A user MUST register his product online, and has to activate the game with the EA servers *every time* he installs his product. That in itself doesn't sound so bad, right? Activating a product to ensure that it is legit seems like a viable way to keep the Dreaded Internet Pirates at bay.

Sure, but you can only activate your product THREE times.

That's it. Three.

Ah one.

Ah ta-hoo...

Three.

All three times you have to re-register online, all three times you have to connect to the EA Server, and after time number three - if you want to play, you have to call the service line, explain why you've gone past the third activation, prove that you are you, and basically beg for a new activation key. For a product that you have legally purchased.

Now here is where the true issue lies:

1) You have purchased the product, yet you have to explain your actions in order to use it.

2) Three installations on a PC is *NOTHING*. With the rate that hardcore gamers wipe, reload, and upgrade their machines, three installations is extremely easy to surpass. If you install the game, realize that your system runs like crap, so that same day you wipe it clean and reload - you have ONE MORE ACTIVATION left.

Let's pray that you don't have anymore software problems.

3) *And THIS is the MOST important point that I have to make*

...

....

I know for a fact that right now I could have a cracked copy of the Pirated software with that pesky need to activate at ALL ripped right out. I've seen, been offered, and could have RIGHT now, the game I'm complaining about.

Get that? It is already cracked, hacked, and patched and easily available for download to any computer user who knows how to search Google. The devices in place to stop the Dreaded Pirates did not stop The Dreaded Pirates who had the game cracked and posted FOUR DAYS before official release. So right now the only ones who are suffering with the copyright cruelty are...

Us.

Those who would buy the software legally in order to review for a gaming site.

So we're back to where we were 8 months ago, fighting for our right not to be treated like criminals, or more aptly, our right to enjoy some of the ease and freedoms that the  criminals are already enjoying.

The Spore Rating has been bombed. Hard. It is getting hundreds of thousands of "One" stars on their rate charts by angry gamers and is dropping in the ranks like that gem the old chick from Titanic hucked into the ocean. Sure, the game is amazing and MUCH better than the 2 stars it is currently boasting, but when you treat your player base like thieves and scoundrels, you're going to get a bit of backlash.

So if you plan on playing, buying, or checking out Spore - I hope that your system is running without issue and that you don't plan on installing it on more than one PC in your household. Be ready to check back with EA Games regularly to ensure them that you really did pay for it, and enjoy the game to its fullest potential.

...and then tell me how it is, because as much as I want to play it...

This one is black listed.  (I wonder if the Pirates are recruiting….)

-Coyote

Tomorrow they're throwing the switch on the Large Hadron Collider that they built on the border between Switzerland and France. This amazes and astounds me on levels that I cannot even begin to express because I honestly had no idea that Switzerland and France actually shared a border.

But man does THAT explain a lot.

For those of you who have no idea what a Large Hadron Collider is, keep reading and I'll explain to you why this is an event of great historical importance. For those of you who DO know what a Large Hadron Collider is, you really want to stop reading now because the doggy doo is about to piled on with a steam shovel.

The Large Hadron Collider is a normal Hadron Collider, but very very large - hence the name. It was built off of designs for the 9000 series heuristically programmed algorithmic computer, but to a much larger scale in order to facilitate all of the functions and theories presented.

How large is large you might ask?

How about SEVENTEEN MILES in length?

That's right, it is seventeen miles long and constructed in a secret underground complex so classified that I can't even find the phone number of the place on Google. We're talking See-cure-uh-TEE.

And for good reason.

The Large Hadron Collider (Known from here out as the LHC, unless I forget and type it out) was designed to produce the Higgs Boson - a hypothetical particle named after late scientist Jonathan Quayle Higgins III. Creation of this particle and bringing it from theory to reality will help us understand how the universe was created, and exactly what took place during the "big bang" besides just, ya know, a big bang.

However creation of such a monumental device doesn't come without its share of naysayers and bleeding heart tree huggers who want it shut down before we accidentally destroy "everything". While firing this puppy up and crossing the streams could possibly shed light into the creation of the cosmos and the birth of matter itself, it does admittedly have one or two theoretical drawbacks that has the bunny kissers up in arms.

Things like:

* Time Travel - And I'm not even making this part up. By powering on this puppy, it has been theorized that we could actually tear a hole in the time/space continuum and unlock the secrets of time travel itself. And while this is HIGHLY unlikely and just a theory, I'd like to point out that this entire machine was BUILT on a theory to produce a theoretical particle. So how far fetched is this really?

"It just isn't going to happen." Laughs Physicist Samuel Beckett. "Talk about leaping to conclusions."

Still, how cool would it be for them to fire up this thing and out pops a T-Rex?

Answer: Pretty frigging cool.

* We'll open up a mini-black hole - And of course by "We'll" I mean "Some scientist dudes" because there is no way in HELL that they'd let me near this thing with a 10 meter cattle prod. The giggling would be a dead give away I'm sure, but come on: If there is one device in the UNIVERSE that is going to suck me into an alternate universe, it's the Large Hadron Collider.

But I digress.

Out of all of the possibilities and theories that could arise, this is the most probable and likely. But even if a mini-black hole IS created?

"According to the generally accepted theory, these subatomic black holes will poof away in .000000000000000000000000001 seconds."

Which does nothing to sooth me in the LEAST.

I mean, I admit that I know dick-one about space and black holes and subatomic particles, but what I do know I've gleaned from years of watching the Sci-Fi channel and so when it comes to black holes .000000000000000000000000001 seconds is a reeeeaaaaally long time. That's at LEAST sucking up a stapler, or a stray scientist or SOMETHING.

* Total Protonic Reversal - Try to imagine all life as you know it stopping instantaneously and every molecule in your body exploding at the speed of light.

...

Right. That's bad. Okay. All right. Important safety tip.

* They forget to hook up the Digital Online Linguistics Leveler - Face it, the thing is SEVENTEEN MILES LONG. It's full of heavy equipment and pipes and Collider thingies that far outweigh the scrawny arms of any scientist.

So who built it?

Contractors of course. GOVERNMENT contractors. So chances are that somewhere along that stretch of seventeen miles there is a bad cable, loose bolt, or set of wires sitting on top of an old issue of Time Magazine, and that just spells disaster.

Or, above all else - it spells out the one thing that would make me piss myself with amusement. Namely:

* Nothing Happens - Absolutely nothing. Scientific progress goes 'boink'.

Of course even if this does doesn't happen, (HA, double negatives are my bitch) we'll never know because there are like three people who will be able to tell.

And there is no WAY they'll admit that it didn't work.

They'll switch it on and it'll hum and glow and look very much like it's ready to obliterate Alderaan, and then it'll just go 'boink' and power down. Everyone will be standing around confused because no one actually knows what was supposed to happen and then one of the three guys who knows that it failed will just jump in the air excitedly and scream "Yes! WE DID IT!". Then everyone ELSE will start celebrating because even though they have no clue that it didn't work, they don't want OTHER people to know that they have no clue that it didn't work.

"Yes! We smashed the F*** out of those particles! WHO IS YOUR SUBATOMIC DADDY NOW ELECTRON?!? UNGH! Double up UNGH UNGH!"

Then they'll run over to a microscope to "confirm" that they did indeed smash the snot out of something that no one else can see and even if they did look it could just be a booger on the lens and they'd have no clue.

But whatever the result, know that I'll be happy.

If nothing bad happens then my life will go on as normal and I'll wake up in my bed and believe whatever I want to believe.

If we open up a dinosaur spewing rift to the world of spider people, well - Richard Grieco has been training for that for YEARS so we'll all be safe. And if the world ends, it'll happen so fast that I won't even be able to perceive it.

So regardless to the panic around this thing, there is nothing at all to worry about. Hell they’ve probably already tested it and besides from noticing that I’m suddenly left handed, it hasn't effected me in the le...

...heeeey...waaaaaiiiiit.

-Coyote

"Daddy, are there REALLY aliens sneaking into the country?" My daughter asked with wide eyes as she presented me with yet another opportunity to fill her developing and trusting mind with lies and tall tales for my own amusement.

...but her mother was like RIGHT THERE, so I had to be responsible and caring lest I suffer through "THAT look". So I put on the Ward Cleaver shoes.

"No baby," I said reassuringly "Not the kind of aliens that live in your closet and watch you sleep, but the kind of aliens that sneak into our country, and take away the jobs that no one else wants to do from hard working Americans who won't do them." I explained lovingly.

Leave it to me to clear things right up.

This of course lead to a discussion on WHY illegal immigrants are called "Aliens".

"Because they burst from your chest and devour your heart if you don't give them a dollar at the airport." I explained, but I don't think she believed me.

She's built up a tolerance over the years.

So I had to explain to my pup that while yes, I do believe life on other planets is possible and even probable given the countless other galaxies in the universe, that no...

...I don't believe that the aliens are coming here to earth. And that when Daddy points out the "aliens on TV that live among us" he usually doesn't really mean outer space aliens, and that he's just being funny. So why, might you ask, do I not believe in aliens among us? Well, as I explained to my daughter - I have come up with something that I like to call:

"Coyote's Theory of Unlikelihood"

This is a four part theory on why no aliens have ever come to our planet, nor will they ever. And as painful and grown up as this is to admit - aliens are not among us for the following reasons.

1) Vitamins and Antihistamines

You travel 80 bajillion miles in technology so complex that we cannot even begin to fathom its workings while traversing space and time and breaking the boundaries of light and reality...

...and no one ever brings the Benadryl?

I've seen it a million times in alien movies, and it always plays out the same: Superior race of aliens come to stomp our ass, we get our ass stomped, and all hope is lost. Then the aliens all get colds and die because instead of the most hearty of their species they send the E.T. version of the chess club to conquer us. If aliens are so smart and watching us and learning and controlling our lives in secret...

Why don't they ever check to see if some as abundant as the air or water on our planet will kill them? Not even one of them stops to ask if there *IS* even air? YOU DON'T KNOW!

Which just adds to my theory of unlikelihood. Even in some superior culture where space travel is commonplace, there HAVE to be some rules that are still in effect that they don't even think about anymore. Things like:

* Don't open the saucer door at a billion miles an hour.

* Flying into the sun is "bad".

* Check to see if the planet you are living on has an atmosphere that can support your form of life since almost no planet out there actually does.

I'm not saying that there are no dumbass aliens out there who do stuff to impress that three boobed chick from Total Recall, but I am saying that if you're going to conquer a planet you're at least going to check to see if you can live there first because dying ruins everything.

Call me kooky.

2) Medical procedures

I'm not even going to get into the anal reamings of your average UFO abductees. It has been done a million times and everyone already knows that if you're going up in a space ship, you're coming down with your own version of an ever widening black hole. It's just part and parcel.

Getting abducted means you walk funny for a week and every time you sit to hard you wince.

No, the reason that the medical procedures and practices of your common alien has made it in the theory is because of the specimens that they DO seem to pick. You see, when our own scientists decide to study animals, they watch the whole herd or pack, and then they pick the average. They find your normal, run-of-the-mill target, pump him full of drugs and drop him like a sno-cone on a sunny day.

But not the aliens.

Nooooo. Aliens always pick the biggest, fattest, dumbest, most unlikely candidate from our race to study and use as their example of the human species. It's always some 400 pound chick stepping out of a Wal-Mart in Kentucky that gets sucked up and molested, and I for one am not buying it.

There is no way that they're coming here from other galaxies, plotting courses and carefully planning every step of the trip - and then just snagging up the first Bertha Mae they find out of a Wal-Mart parking lot as she stands transfixed like a deer in their headlights.

Although....this might explain the butt-fetish.

After the you pull a light bulb out of the ass of the fifth redneck you pick up, rectal pokings just might be one of those grim curiosity things that they do for fun.

"Don't forget to check the ass Breemok! Takmerg got a roll of quarters and a rubber duck out of HIS last one!"

Which would suck if we became known as the intergalactic grab bags all because a few bored perverts wanted to know how many tootsie rolls fit up their..um..tootsie roll.

STOP STICKING STUFF UP YOUR BUTTS YOU WEIRDOS!

Jesus.

3) Flying, spinning, saucers

Ever been on the "UFO" or other rides of the "Spinning so fast that you get stuck to the wall like a bug on a windshield" variety? The ones that just spin you around until your eyes get sucked into the back of your head and 30 bucks worth of Faire Food starts crawling back up your throat?

Now picture that times a BILLION.

Flying saucers might look cool and be conveniently replicated using paper plates, hubcaps, and that Frisbee that you snagged from those stoners, but as a form of space travel - they're just plain stupid. I can't take those spinning rides for more than a few minutes before seven corndogs and a bag of hand spun cotton candy want to come back out and say "hi". So I can't even begin to imagine how much worse space travel has to be, especially since there's no skeevy carnie operator to let you off the ride.

You're traveling for BILLIONS of miles going faster than the speed of light in a little disc that spins really fast? NOTHING could survive that, and even if something did it would be too nauseous to do anything but hurl up its queegnargs the moment it stepped out of the ship.

"Take me..ugh..t..take me..to..uh..give me a second..*urp*...take me to...your.. RAAAUUUUGGGHHHHHFFFF!!"

And once that footage got on YouTube who would ever be afraid of them? They would become the new LOLCats and would be photo shopped continuously for our amusement.

4) Nuke us from space

Let's face facts: If you have the technology to traverse the universe in the blink of an eye, you can nuke us from space.

If for some reasons aliens DID find us and DID want this planet, do you really think they're going to come down here and fight us hand to hand so that Will Smith and Brundlefly can save the day?

HELL no.

They're just going to hold up a giant intergalactic magnifying glass, redirect the sun's rays and fry us like ants on the side walk.

There would be no story or tale of plucky heroic and overcoming odds. We'd be dead, they'd have the planet and there would be nothing that we could do about it. It isn't like we can get into deep space, or even "to the other side of the moon" to stop them. They'd just sit up there, drop their human death spray and then sweep us under the carpet.

And since we're all still sitting here, it is safe to say that the alien invasion hasn't happen yet.

Not that I wouldn't want to see alien boobs.

'Cause ya know...

I'm into that.

-Coyote

(MONDAY PIMPINGS!! The new Avast Ye is up and reading for reading - so go there before I give you a beatin'.)

(Every once in a great while I allow myself one of these. I know it isn't my thing, but trust me, this is ALL that you are getting today because...just....ooooh.)

I stretched a bit as I yawned and looked around my still dark bedroom with sleepy eyes.

It felt GOOD to finally wake up without the shrill electronic chirping of that frigging alarm clock. Whoever invented that little "startle you out of a sexy dream that involved hot midget chicks and Cool-Whip" should be shot. You're scared awake, jostled violently out of dreamland, and you start every morning with a big cup of panic.

So it was nice to finally wake up without the alarm clock, because I NEVER wake up without the alarm clock.

I felt refreshed and renewed. Like I could do anything. Like I could...

...wait.

I NEVER wake up without the alarm clock.

Fear grips my insides an my breath catches in my chest as the moment of dawning comprehension sets in. With a panicked lunge I sit upright in bed and catch the actual TIME on the alarm lock.

6:43.

I get up at 4:45.

I'm two hours late and I am NEVER late. Immediately my head starts swimming with fears and realizations as I hurl myself out of the bed and towards the closet door. Any writing assignments that I have are going out the window - there's no time for my normal morning routine. I have to shower, shave, get dressed and somehow drive the 36 miles to work in hopes of beating the clock.

I'm like a whirlwind of efficency. Clothes are thrown into an uncaring pile before being scooped up roughly and all but thrown into the bathroom. Lights are left on, doors are slammed and I'm brushing my teeth IN the shower, hygiene and minty fresh dribblings be damned.

I'm late, and I am NEVER late.

A quick glance in the mirror tells me that I can skip a shave and as I comb my hair and huck my Spiderman Toothbrush somewhere in the vicinity of it's holder, I grab my clothes and I go. A tornado of timing, I'm mostly dressed, prepared for the day, and frantically searching for my keys as I rip through the livingroom like a man possessed.

Keys, keys, where the F*** are my keys?!

Horrible thoughts pound against my skull as I mentally convict every person living in my household of hiding my keys. It was PROBABLY those damned kids who have to touch everything even when they KNOW it doesn't belong to them because - AHA! KEYS!

Right next to the T.V.! I must have set them there when I got home yesterday!

A quick glance to the DVR tells me that I'm making good time because my entire morning ritual has only taken about 8 minutes, and since it is now only 4:53, I have MORE than enough time to...

4:53? What. The. F***?!?!

I look at my watch and then the microwave in the kitchen for comfirmation.

4:53.

Panic is replaced by anger as I stomp back into the bedroom and towards the form of my sleeping wife - the setter of said alarm clock, still peacefully sleeping and already encroching on MY side of the bed.

"Hey." I say as gently as I can as I give her a nudge.

No response.

"HEY." I say again, not so gently. She stirs slightly from her sleep and glares at me with a half opened eye.

"WHAT?!" She growls, her anger at merely being wakened washing over me like a nuclear blast wave.

"Did...did you set the alarm two hours late?" I ask hesitantly, because she scares the piss out of me.

"Yeah. I meant to fix that. Sorry." She offers before collapsing back into her pillow.

...

....

The pillow I'm currently using to smother her with.

So instead of a column for today filled with attempts at humor and bad jokes, you get my full confession to murder. I don't feel like writing, I'm tired and in a lousy mood, and my heart is still pounding in my chest.

In the shower. I BRUSHED MY TEETH IN THE SHOWER - that right THERE should keep me off death row when they find her smothered corpse drooling on my pillow.

So today you get nothing. No column, no story, no nothing. I have two hours to kill, and since I have to do so in another room because she is angry that I woke her up, (Pillows seem ineffective. Anyone have a stake and some garlic?) I'm going to spend the remainder of my time playing video games before driving the actual speed limit to work, and maybe - just maybe, I'll stop off at the florist.

'Cause she seems REALLY mad that I woke her up this early.

-Coyote

Joss Whedon is a brilliant man.

I admire him for his vision, talent, and awe-inspiring imagination and creativity. His senses of timing and humor are second to none and he has the amazing ability to capture something fantastic and make it seem not only familiar and possible, but real.

I would KILL for Joss Whedon.

While this statement might alarm a few of you and make me seem like a rabid fanboy, let me explain:

* Joss would never *ever* ask this as his powers are only used for good.

* I am not what you would call a "stable" individual.

* I would also kill for some REALLY good nachos. The kind that have both real shredded cheese AND the fake cheese sauce? And those little black rings of sliced olive? Mmmm...nachos.

For those of you who do not know of Mister Whedon's greatness, or are not familiar with his work, you are a dirty commie, so let me catch you up with another bulleted listing that does not involve nachos.

* Joss Whedon is the creator of Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Angel, Firefly, and several up and coming titles that bring you hot chicks kicking ass while remaining extremely hot.

* Joss Whedon created the internet sensation that IS Dr. Horrible's Sing-a-long Weblog. He's a creator, a writer, a director, a composer, and he once got so mad that he threw a bus.

* He is our Lord and Master.

* Joss Whedon looks like a man who enjoys him some nachos. (Okay, I lied about not mentioning nachos. I had to. They're just too delicious to NOT mention.)

All this being said, explained, and topped with sour cream and chives, Joss Whedon arguably has one of the most powerful and profound influences that can be seen rippling across the geek community. He has made us laugh, he has made us cry, and he has made us develop fetishes where really hot chicks beat the hell out of us and then totally DO us afterwards. He is a great source of joy, and because of this...

...he is also being used as a tool to tease and torment the lives of geeks everywhere.

That's right,  like being choked with your own severed hand, Joss Whedon is being used for EVIL.

If there are only two things that geeks love, it is Joss Whedon and nachos. If there are three things, it would be Joss Whedon, nachos and video games - and it is in that third vein that we are brought both pain and suffering.

A while back when the Firefly / Serenity craze was at its peak it was rumored and then confirmed that a Whedonverse Firefly inspired MMOG was being developed. And while there was no parades or partying in the streets as we have all been burned by similar rumors in the past, we allowed ourselves the luxury of hope.

We HOPED that it was true. We HOPED that it was being developed, and we HOPED that when and if it was ever released, it wouldn't just totally SUCK. Months and years have passed and occasionally a rumor or a mention of the Firefly MMOG will spring up and rekindle that hope. We sit back quietly and wait, but deep in our hearts we know that it will never be released because the world is full of retarded sheep who just want to stab at goblins and ride sparkly fairy unicorns.

Not that we're bitter.

So when they announced that Buffy the Vampire Slayer will be made into an MMOG, and feature the dark world of yet another Whedonverse, my heart burst with joy.

For about two frigging seconds.

With Firefly supposedly in the works, we've yet to see a screenshot. No concept art or dev interviews, no mention of publisher or production company, not even so much as a pixel from a cunning hat.

Nothing.

And now I'm supposed to get excited because another world that I love is supposedly being made into an MMOG, and is announced by the same people who broke the story on the Firefly MMOG? I'm promised all sorts of future Whedony-goodness but to date nothing has been shown or confirmed with any solid evidence and I'm supposed to keep the faith? Keep hope? I don't think so. In fact, I've come to a conclusion - that while painful to say or admit, seems only TOO likely:

They're dicking with us.

Hard.

Some anti-Whedon folk out there in the geek world (They exist believe it or not) know our love for all things Joss and just don't get it. They don't get the humor, the fun, or the lure of the Whedonverse and because of this they feel left out of our Who-songs and reindeer games. So they stomp high upon some scraggly mountain and grow bitter and in order to lash out at us they open up Pandora's Box and huck the only thing left in there at our heads.

Hope.

As cool or as amazing as a Buffyverse or Firefly universe would be, I no longer have hope. With one announced, I could pray, I could wish, and I could imagine it being true - but with two? I know this industry far too well and I've seen too many game crash and burn only moments away from release to think that TWO Joss Whedon inspired games are going to make it to launch.

So now I've lost all hope and faith that we'll be able to immerse ourselves into the worlds we've come to know and love, and depression has set in to the point where I don't even want nachos anymore.

I hope you are all happy.

If you need me, I'll be pouting and brooding, and looking wounded Joss Whedon Style...

..as a hot chick who probably knows Kung Fu.

-Coyote

(P.S. - I lied again about the nachos. I totally want some.)

I need to find the fountain of youth, and I need to find it fast.

I understand that everyone grows older and that aging is a natural part of life, but I never thought that *I* would become the enemy. The old guy who doesn't understand the kids today and who screamed for everyone to get off of his lawn as he informed them that he was KEEPING the Frisbee.

That was never going to happen to *ME*.

I was hip. Cool. I knew the symptoms, I knew what to watch for, and I was going to be the first of my kind. The cool old guy who had the same exact mindset that he had in youth, and the openness to accept everyone, not based on what they were wearing, or doing, but on who they were.

And then you damn kids got stupid and started doing stuff to make me get old. Stuff like:

Hats Worn Like This

No.

NO.

NO no no no no! You are doing it ALL WRONG! Look at the visor, how is it supposed to shield your eyes from the sun like that? And it is barely sitting on your head! That's not safe! You could LOSE it! A small jostle or slight breeze and your hat is going to fall RIGHT OFF! Your parents paid GOOD money for that young man and I...

...Damn it. SEE?

Why should I care how he wears his hat? Why should it bother me? I've worn some styles that were considered pretty trendy in my day, and if this is the current incarnation of hipness, WHY should I care? Because I'm getting old? Finally losing touch with the youth of today and moving onto my middle years of life?

No. I care because it looks frigging retarded.

Yes, I've worn questionable fashions in the past. Acid washed jeans, jean jackets, bugle boy jeans, just about anything you can think of to bastardize the word "jean", I've worn - but even when I was WEARING the style, I knew HOW to wear it, and the crooked baseball cap is just stupid.

And speaking of PANTS...

Pants Worn Like This

...

Okay. When you have to hold up the front of your pants in order to walk, something is either wrong with A) Your pants or B) YOU. I would say "Get a god damn belt" but as you can plainly see...

HE ALREADY HAS ONE!

And it is cinched (yes I said cinched, deal with it Junior) pretty tight to ensure that his pants ride riiiight beneath his ass and can't be forcefully pulled up in a drive-by-dressing. I hate THIS "young person" trend more than almost any other because if clashes heavily with my own personal rule of:

"Unless you're a hot chick, I don't want to see your underpants."

Hey black guys? Help a pasty skinned white boy out with this and stop inventing trends that skinny 14 year old white kids named Daryl from Ohio are going to try and mimic. You know that we have no style of our own and that we have to wait for you to invent something in order to seem cool by stealing it, but this is just mean. I don't know if you're doing it as a joke, revenge for the "Macarena", or if you hang around trying to think of things that you can get the wanna-be gangstas to do so that you can sit back and laugh, but it has to stop.

This isn't a good look on ANYONE, let alone poser kids from rich Wonder bread families who want to rebel. It isn't safe and sooner or later someone is going to trip, fall, and get hurt and then EVERYONE is going to feel bad.

PULL UP YOUR GOD DAMN PANTS!

Texting

If I'm sitting down to lunch with you and we're having a nice conversation and you reach into your pocket, handbag or purse and pull out a cell phone and start texting, I'm going to stab you in the eye with my salad fork.

I don't use it anyway.

Texting has become so common place that the people who exhibit this type of behavior have no clue how rude they are actually being. And as soon as the texting starts, your conversation and lunch is broken down into quick chats between awkward one sided pauses as we wait for you to read, smile, and then write something to covertly send. The person on the other side of the text feels less important as you constantly glance down to the device that you haven't put away to see if you have a new message, and is socially neutered by your Alpha Dog texting.

And some of us don't like to be Alpha Dog'd at lunch. It is instinctive. It goes back to our primal roots and caveman days. When you were hunting a saber tooth tiger and Oolak pulled out his cell phone and started texting messages to Grugnog, you were allowed to base him in the face with a crudely carved club and take his wife. Sure, times have changed - but the mentality hasn't, and when you text during conversations with someone who is actually there you are actually saying:

"I control this conversation and assert myself over you. If I wanted to reach onto your plate and take a french fry, I totally could."

This will work with some of your weaker-willed and less pack minded friends, but if you try that crap with me?

I'll pee on you.

I'll TOTALLY pee on you. I *AM* an Alpha male.

Actually SAYING "LOL" or "BRB"

Back in the day this just proved that you were online waaaaay too much. The situation always went down the same way and was awkward for everyone present. You'd be walking with a friend, discussing something casually and:

"So I told her, you show me yours first - and she DID!"

"LOL, I j..j.." *awkward alarmed look*

"Dude. ...did you just SAY "LOL"?"

"Wow. I am such a f***ing loser."

There would be an awkward silence, a forced laugh, and then you'd move on as you both mentally agreed never to talk about it again, unless you were ragging him in front of other friends and needed some good ammo.

But now?

NOW you damn kids today are using internet abbreviations in REAL LIFE CONVERSATION and acting like *I* am the one who is strange when I call you on it. Like it is no big deal that you just told me that you laughed out loud when you did not in fact laugh out loud because I was RIGHT THERE WATCHING YOU.

As much as I work with, live with, and exist on these things - I am not a frigging computer and don't you DARE try to truncate a conversation with me using unnecessary abbreviations young man! I was in the WAR fighting for your rights and THIS GREAT COUNTRY before you were even a gleam in your Daddy's eye! I was in a bamboo tiger cage getting poked with glass shards by Charlie before you even blew the dust out of your first Nintendo Cartridge so don't you...

...

....god damn it.

I'm getting old and I don't know how to stop it. I feel like Charlie (from Flowers from Algernon, not a war-time slur) when the mouse died and he realized that he was getting stupid again. I can see the symptoms but I'm powerless to reverse the effects.

If only there was something - anything, to keep me young. Invigorated. ENERGIZED so that I felt alive and...

And all was right with the world.

-Coyote

I want to play with a Wii.

I want to hold it. Caress it.

Shake it too and fro in grasped hand as my eyes roll back in sheer pleasure from all the enjoyment that playing with a Wii can bring. Games, fun, distraction to the point where you never even begin to wonder where the phrase to and fro came from. I WANT to be Wii-fit, I want to be a Wii-Jedi, and I want to use my Wii controller as a zombie slicing fire axe of doom.

So breaking down, I decided to go out and buy a Wii. And foolishly, I thought it would be that simple.

I marched into Gamestop with a fist full of dreams wrapped around a bunch of wadded bills that would ensure me my prize. I would finally buy a console, my kids would stop complaining that the Super Nintendo doesn't work right and sucks, and I would become a hybrid PC / Console gamer. Moving to the counter I grinned at my newly discovered friend "Trevor" and requested a Wii, like those that they have advertised in the window.

Only to find out, that they were sold out.

"They go fast man. One guy bought like eight of them." Trevor told me as he popped the collar on his shirt as only a guy named Trevor can. Which was weird because as Trevor-like as that move is, his shirt didn't HAVE a collar.

Still, it pissed me off.

It is one thing to be denied my Wii because I fall to the numbers of purposely dwindled supply and demand - but to be robbed my chance to become Wii-fit because some asshat trying to make a buck is bogarting all of the consoles? He was probably selling them all on eBay and making a fortune.

Needless to say, I started to get grumpy. Sure the guy had every right to buy 8 Wii consoles. If he had the money and they were for sale, it was his RIGHT to buy them - but damn it.

I want one TOO.

It's almost two years later and you still can't get a Wii in stores. And as the holidays draw ever closer, it is going to get even HARDER. Which brings me to the question of:

Why.

WHY can I still not find a Wii available to me at any store with 100 mile radius of my current location? This isn't an exaggeration, or a trumped up number that I created in order to express my point.

This is truth.

This is fact.

This is, and it pains me beyond belief to say it, research.

That's right, Nintendo made me do research.

Those bastards.

At first it was for selfish gain. The stores I had visited in my daily trek were sold out, and I really wanted a Wii. So when we finally made it home I started calling other locations, further and further out of the blast radius that is centered on my home. Best Buy, Circuit City, Game Stop, EB Games, Target, Wal-Mart, K-Mart (Now the hip "Big K", because the bigger your K the cooler you are), all of the major players that might carry a Nintendo Wii, and all of them sold out in every location that I would reasonably drive to.

Which admittedly was getting less and less reasonably as I fell prey to the "must have it because I can't" which was responsible for driving this shopping nightmare in the first place. Like so many of the masses, I was starting to get a bit frantic because I was denied the seemingly harmless purchase that I wanted to make. I'm calling a Target over 90 miles away in a town I've never HEARD of and trying to justify the drive to myself as I wait on hold and rock out to "Take on me" by Aha.

"Well gas prices have come down."

"It's only like driving to work three times. Hell I do that every WEEK."

"I wonder if he left ink smears on her walls when he was ping ponging off of them and trying to escape the comic book world. That would be a bitch to clean up."

Finally after a minute or so on hold that seemed much longer as I mimicked slamming across the walls of my hall way and was ordered to "cut it out you retard" by the ever supportive Missus, the bubbly happy cheery Target Employee picked up the phone and informed me that they were sold out. Sensing my dismay and disappointment by carefully weighing every possible meaning of the "F-word" that I was using the store clerk tried to cheer me up by letting me know that they have a ton of Wii peripherals and games if I was interested, instead.

I was not.

Because I don't have a Wii.

And the only thing WORSE than not having a Wii would be not having a Wii but having a ton of Wii peripherals that I can't use except as a reminder that I don't have a Wii. So giving up on a locally purchased console, I turned to the only place that I could think of for solace.

The internet.

THE INTERNET would have a Wii! The internet has EVERYTHING! If the internet could supply me with porn from SEVERAL sites that satisfies my granny clown midget tranny amputee balloon popping tickle fetish, surely it could find me a Wii! Hell, probably even CHEAPER that the $250 bucks that they stores advertise!

So after a few hours of watching cross dressing dwarves pop balloons with their mangled stumps, I started scouring the dark corners of the internet. And do you know what I found?

EBAY!

All of the normal sites were "out of stock" or selling the Wii for up to two and a half times the store price, (Seriously. Check google.) which I wasn't going to pay, but eBay had consoles GALORE! Consoles bought in bulk at the stores that I was trying to buy on from by asshats trying to make a buck.

And making a buck they were.

I'm talking hand over fist.

They'd buy a console and an extra controller, "bundle it" as a console with extra controller and get, sadly, four to five hundred bucks for a product that came out almost two years ago yet still aren't readily available.

And as much as I want one, I just couldn't do it. I couldn't justify spending 150 to 200 dollars more than I'd pay retail for a console that I wanted JUST so that I could be a Jedi, or make old ladies to beat up in Wii boxing. It wasn't worth the added expense, I'm sure that they'll be available when the NEXT incarnation of the Wii comes out, and besides...

...Missus Coyote would f***ing KILL me.

So here I sit. Wii-less. No Wii. A man without a Wii.

Wii-neutered.

And I only have one person to blame for it.

Damn you eBay, damn you to hell.

I'm going back on Thursday, and if I see a guy buying eight of them? I'm jumping him in the parking lot and beating him to death with the Super Nintendo.

-Coyote

Today is Labor Day, so chances are - if you're reading this, you're probably not American. Either that or you ARE American and you're stuck at some crappy job that makes you actually WORK on Labor Day and are reading my column as a form of silent protest.

Either way I figured I'd give you folks something to read rather than rub it in that I'm still sleeping because I actually have the day off and you don't. You're stuck at work waiting on people who have the day off, and I'm snuggled deep in my comfy bed and drooling like a Saint Bernard with a lip ring.

That, or you're one of my "over seas" readers, who have NO idea what Labor Day actually is because you have weird holidays that no one understands and that usually involve "crumpets and tea". You're probably rolling your eyes and saying something like "Those bloody Americans have more wickershammed holidays than you can shake a gumbily froo at!" in a prissy accent that makes us want to punch you in the eye and take you to the dentist.

But how we've come to be here isn't important. What *IS* important is that today is Labor Day, and in celebration of that I've decided to explain to you exactly WHAT Labor Day is.

Ahem.

Labor Day is a day where you don't have to work. That's pretty much it. I know, I know:

"But if it is LABOR Day, shouldn't you be laboring as the name implies?"

No. Labor Day just has one of those ironic names like a big guy named Tiny or a fat dude named Slim, although that's just more mean than clever because he probably has a gland problem or a bad thyroid or something.

But I digress.

Labor Day is just another crappy "not real" holiday that we celebrate as a way to get a free day off of work. It falls into the "B Movie" category of holidays, and while no one really likes it or takes the time to reflect on its true meanings and such, they'd freak right the hell out if someone tried to take it away from them. It ranks right up there in importance with Columbus Day, which is just a bull-hock holiday to begin with because no one gives a damn about Columbus.

I mean a celebration of the day that Columbus accidentally discovered America? What a crock. Everyone knows that he got butt-lost and thought he was in India and just luckily stumbled across the land mass that became our great country. And THAT just further proves how much of an asshole Columbus really was, because he went as far as to name the natives "Indians" even though they neither looked nor acted like the Indians that we he already knew of.

"Whoa...Chris, those don't look like Indians."

"They're Indians. We're in India."

"Yeah, but they're all painted and have bows. Indians don't use bows."

"THEY'RE INDIANS, okay? They're just a different kind."

"A different kind of Indian that has never been documented or recorded and speaks a completely new dialect that we've never heard before."

"Yes."

"You are such a dick."

Of course, he was probably really justified in being a jerk because you just KNOW that his friends were ragging on him from the moment they landed and everyone realized that they weren't in India. In fact, Columbus probably didn't even want to call the natives "Indians". It was probably his friends just rubbing it in at every opportunity.

"Oh look, here come more of those INDIANS. Good thing we found all these INDIANS right here in INDIA, eh Chris? I sure love me some INDIA. This INDIAN food is GREAT!"

Guys are brutal to each other like that.

Where chicks hug and support each other and give advice on how to improve their lives on a whole, men just look for a point of weakness and exploit the piss out of it. Every flaw, error and mistake is just and opportunity to get another dig in because secretly no matter how mad the guy getting picked on gets, he knows that it is funny and he deserves the mocking. So I don't doubt for a second that Columbus's friends were the ones who got the "Indians" thing to stick, because I know damn well that if I were on that boat they would have had to beat me with oars to shut me up.

That or let me get my wigwam on with Pocahontas.

Rawr...

In reality, Labor Day is more than just a day off that I get and you don't (haha!), it's a milestone. A marker signifying the unofficial end of Summer and the welcoming of Autumn. A reminder that school starts soon, the days are growing shorter, and the nights are getting colder. So take this day as a day of reflection as you look back on the already waning year and realize...

...you have to work and I don't.

-Coyote

((And in other slacker news - if you're bored at work and trying to stick it to the man - check out Avast Ye! It's updated, new and wondrous, and will eat away another precious moment out of your day bringing you ever closer to freedom. Because you totally have to work. AHAHHAHAHAH)

Since my return from the land of the vacationed, my mailbag has been filling up with question after question - and they're all on the same topic.

So rather than write anyone back and explain to them exactly WHY I haven't done a "Disney Recap" and get into all of the detail of my vacation away from the world of computers and writing, I thought instead that I would do it here, for all to see...

...and mebbe get a column out of it.

Now leave me alone, because I'm bringing you...

"Uncle Coyote's Bulging Sack...of mail.......up-close and personal and smelling slightly of sweat."

"How was Disney? Did the Hurricane / Tropical Storm ruin the trip?"

It did not.

I'll admit, it was wet, and there was just a hint of worry in my eyes when I saw that a F***ING HURRICANE was scheduled to hit Florida around the same time that I was. All of the news casts that I saw went like this:

"This is odd Tom, tropical storm Fay, which threatens to crest into a level 1 Hurricane is just HANGING off of the coast of Florida. We've never seen anything like it. So far all it has done is suck up every shark in the ocean and a few of those creepy spiked puffer fish, and now it just appears to be waiting. A huge, spinning, angry water tornado full of pissed off sharks and ballooned up puffer fish. What could this mean?"

So needless to say, I was at least a little bit concerned.

Sharks are deadly enough by themselves, but hold them up, spin them around, and make them dizzier than hell and well, you're pretty much hosed. Luckily for me that I remembered we're a family of coyotes and our species is one of the most ready to adapt in order to survive ever known to the animal kingdom.

So we went down, we braved the rain and the wind and the occasional flailing illegal immigrant and they flew by our heads in a final death scream like the tornado scene from the Wizard of Oz, and we made the best of it.

And I got Pirate Mickey Ears. Yaaar.

"You have to tell me what the updated Haunted Mansion was like! Did it kick major ass?"

It did not.

This saddens me more than a bit because I was REALLY hoping for some major ass kickery or awesomeness contained. Instead I got a bunch of really old animatronic skeletons, lame effects (Ooooh, a hand is coming out of a coffin! Oh! It's going back in, no wait..here it comes again..no..it's leaving a....and back again.) and really old ghost camera tricks in which you could always see the strings and wires.

I was disappointed.

The ride was lame, failed to live up to my imagination or self induced hype, and when my eldest pup who is literally afraid of EVERYTHING is giving the "hitchhiking ghost" bunny ears, the ride is officially a bust.

If you want to be scared at Disney, go to one of the sit down restaurants and view the "haunted menu". Because if 27 bucks for a cheeseburger doesn't make you shit yourself, nothing will.

"Why haven't you done a vacation recap blog, or tell us more about your trip? Where are the pictures of you and your family?"

Because this isn't a blog god damn it.

Sure, I comment on things, throw out personal reflections and opinions, and generally make it all about ME, but it isn't a BLOG. This isn't about ME, it is about how I see things in the gaming, geek, or gazanga category of the world and relate to you, my peers and digital brethren.

I rarely get truly personal which is why you'll never see mention of Birthdays of my family, hear about how my cat pooped in the sink, or that Mrs. Coyote made me sleep on the couch because I farted so loud in my sleep that her ears popped. As bloggy as it looks, feels, or even says in the link TO the site, it isn't a blog in the normal "Myspace" acceptance of the word - and NO god damn it, I'm not in denial. NOW LEAVE BRITNEY ALONE! JUST LEAVE HER ALONE!

As to why you only get smiling pictures of me in all of my pasty doughy goodness and not that of the family I've spawned or the woman insane enough to put up with me - it's because this isn't about the man behind "Coyote" or his family, and I don't need you asshats photo shopping my children in the jaws of a raptor, or getting revenge on me by going after them because I showed a picture of Harry Potter giving a reach around to a horse.

We protect the innocent. I'm like a Superhero in that way.

"Did you see Walt Disney's Frozen Head?"

I licked it.

It tasted like success and bourbon.

"Hey Coyote Parseltongue, just wanted you to know that death eaters have their vacations ruined by hurricanes. We told you it wouldn't just be you that suffered. Your kids get what you get. You know what we want so apologize or the curse stays. Posting pictures of Dumbledore being gay isn't even funny because he really is and we're okay with that you jerk. Ready to admit you were wrong yet?"

Okay okay okay.

I KNOW that I said I would *NEVER* post your writings, acknowledge you in print, and that your constant letters and threats in the flavor of Harry Potter would never make it to this site, but...

This SLAYED me.

I'm evil because I post pictures of, let's say....

Harry Potter slapping his wand down on that little troll thing.

So you and "Hermione’s Heroes" or whatever you're calling yourself this week use your vast magical talents and mystical abilities gathered from toy replica wands and sharpie marker lightning bolt tattoos, and LEVEL FLORIDA TO GET ME? You destroy homes, cause amazing flood damage, stop work, travel, and normal daily routine for hundreds of thousands of people, JUST to make me get wet at Disney in hopes of ruining my vacation?

And I'm the evil one?

Even in your fantasy world gone wrong you have to see the vast hypocrisy in this. Tell me my dear, have you finally given in to the dark side or whatever they call the cool kids in the Rowlingverse? Are you all Snaped out and Wingardium Levoisaing yourself?

Because if I think that even for a moment that my actions here have driven ANYONE to cross from light into dark, choose the path of anger, or dedicate their lives to evil because of something that *I* did...

...well...

THAT my friends would truly be a reason to jump for joy.

There. Photoshop that you bastards.

-Coyote