Hyper Realistic Murder Simulators

Wii Fanboy posted a story about a group of parents in New Jersey and their reactions to the news of Nintendo (also referred to by parents as “Intendo”, “Nintenda”, and “That Goddamned Vidya Game”) releasing a military grade weapons training system for the Wii called the Wii Zapper. There are a few facts I should get out of the way:

  1. The Nintendo Wii is ONLY intended for children ages fetus – 4 yrs.
  2. Nintendo uses hypnosis to force parents to buy gun peripherals for their impressionable children against their better judgment.
  3. The Wii Zapper will only be used for games whose sole purpose is shooting defenseless people in the face for no reason other than to watch them die. You can use a 2nd Wiimote to piss on their bodies after robbing them.
  4. The Japanse NEVER got over WWII. Turning our children into killing machines is their ultimate revenge.

Other sites have already gone into sufficient detail debunking this horse crap of a non-story so I won’t bother rehashing their points about parental responsibility, etc, etc. I can only add my own experience to the mix. Like most of you, my first NES game was the bundled double-dong of Super Mario Bros./ Duckhunt. I shot the fuck out of some ducks. Like e’ry day. I was all about it. I graduated to the gigantic motherfucking Dirty Harryesque “Konami Justifier” for Lethal Enforcers on the Genesis. Then it was the Guncon for PSX Time Crisis (the “crisis” in question was that the game cost $65 and the “time” part was the 30 minutes it took to beat it). By the time the XBox came around I was using my analog sticks FPS style, though I did rent House of the Dead and the snot-green gun it employed on occasion. This isn’t even considering the countless flavors of Nazi, robot, futuristic armor-type-guy, and aliens I wasted with a mouse and keyboard.

I played a whole f-ing lot of shooters as a child, preteen, teen, and so forth. Guess what? I don’t even like guns. I haven’t even ever fired a real one. I’ve only been in 3 fist fights and all before 8th grade. Other than outing myself as the world’s biggest pussy just now, I have also proven that video game violence doesn’t equate to real life violence when you are dealing with a relatively well adjusted individual.

If anything the murder-sims have taught me invaluable life lessons. When the zombies rise, or the machines revolt, the remnants of Third Reich harness evil sorcery and imbue it into a reanimated Hitler clone, or any other variety of shits hit the fan I WILL BE READY. New Jersey’s parents will be pissing themselves getting eaten, assimilated, or transmogrified into rodents by Super Hitler while their kids and I are forming a rag tag resistance force and kicking undead cyborg Nazi ass. Unfortunately we will also be shit-talking over networked headsets. It’s shameful but good for team morale.

Bonus Dowload: Hi-res of the final panel with “Magical Unicorn Rainbow Defecator Happy Experience Challenge.”

Why a Wiimote cousin? Why not an axe?

Because it’s dull, you twit, it’ll hurt more.

Anyone? Robinhood: Prince of Thieves? Anyone? Guy of Gisbourne? No?

Moving on. I just finished Season 3 of Battlestar Galactica. I’m late to this party, but I brought the Barbecue Funyuns. Josh had been telling me for years that I was missing out by not watching BSG. It wasnt that I didn’t care. Oh, contraire. I cared too much.

When I love something, the good people at VivendiUniversalMTVFOXComedyCentralEXXonMobilMrsBairdsBread start the death clock (not the DethKlok). I told that bald headed bastard that If I ever loved this Battlestar that it would be swiftly taken from us all. Rendered asunder like so much Wonderfalls, or dare I say it, Firefly. Why did you leave us Captain Tightpants? Why?

Well, I signed up for the Netflix, put seasons 1 and 2 in the que and immediately started watching BSG…every night. 3 and 4 episodes at a time. Riker’s Beard, this is good scifi!” I says. 14 seconds later it got canceled. Thats right, my love is cursed. Woe unto to yee that knows my love, for yee shalt be cancel-ed. ALL ARE CANCEL-ED!

Josh tried to convince me that I was part of the problem for not watching it sooner. I pointed out that downloading HDTV rips of the episodes from Bittorrent wasn’t exactly supporting the show either.

I think I actually heard him “Herumph” at that point.

Pirates of the Caribbean 3: At Wit’s End

For those of you playing the Hijinks Ensue home game (score cards available at Kroger with any purchase of a 20 oz. soda or can of Pringles) thats (2) comics about pirates and (2) mentions of forced sexual intercourse between bears and men.

The first Pirates was pure movie-going fun. It was a simple story (thank god Disney didn’t make a movie about the Tea Cups) but visually enriched, jaunting in its pace, and action-packed (the movie was literally PACKED with various actions). The sequel was equally enjoyable and achieved things with Octopus-face technology previously thought possible only in maritime nightmares. The threequel, however, was really just the REST of the 2nd movie. I get it. I took the red pill. I know what the Matrix is, Cowboy Curtis. And much like the Matrix 3pete, the 3rd one was a turd.

The movie stretches itself thin while struggling to retcon a bunch a bullshit about Pirates of the world sharing a common bond and noble way of life (in the same way modern day murderers and rapists will give each other a knowing wink and nod when they pass in the grocery store). Then theres a 20 minute segment with Witty Jack in Pirate Purgatory. As it turns out, Hell is other pirates. Specifically other Jack Sparrows. Jack is damned for what seemed like an eternity to captain the Black Rock Pearl on an ocean of desert salt crewed entirely by copies of himself. Johnny Depp with 40 other Johnny Depps. You know he’d hit that. Unwashed dopple-johnny (depp-ganger?) orgies would abound.

I was hoping the Keith Richards’ cameo would provide some much needed entertainment value. His performance wasn’t just sublime, it was subliminal. Blink and you’d miss it. Oh and just in case you don’t understand that Keith is a musician of sorts, he holds a guitar in his scene to clarify things.

3 hours and $25 (Buncha-Crunch be expensive, yo) later a Jamaican lady grew 200 feet tall and I went home.