I like to think I'm a badass. A short, blonde, adorable badass, but a badass nonetheless. Sometimes badassery is a conscious choice. Sometimes we just have to deal with the shit we're handed.
When asked about my relatively short, yet illustrious teaching career, I flat-out tell people, "My kids fucking loved me." And most of them, along with their parents, did. I had high standards, I wasn't afraid to push them to recognize their potential, and as I'm sure you've gathered, I'm just fun to be around. The slackers and their slacker parents didn't always love me, but whatever. We all know who was right in those situations.
A little over a year ago (so about six months after I got laid off?), I got pretty sick. The brilliant doctors never quite figured out what was wrong with me, but it was the start of some seriously un-fun times. Whatever was going on triggered flares of my chronic illness and it was thought that one of the medications I'd been taking for years could be making me sick, so away it went. It was time to find a replacement, and no matter how high I raised my eyebrows at my doctor, it was decided that the replacement would come in syringes instead of pills. Yaaaaay.
The drug company arranged for a nurse to come and show me how to inject myself, free of charge, and Nurse Shelly called me to set up the appointment. We chose a Wednesday afternoon, I cleared my schedule, and waited. She called a while before she was supposed to arrive, saying she was caught in traffic in the city, and we could either do it later or reschedule for a different day. I figured I might as well get it over with and told her to get here whenever she could.
She arrived and we took a seat at my kitchen table, where she presented me with a mountain of paperwork. As we were merrily going through it, her cell phone rang and she sighed. "I'm so sorry," she apologized as she looked at the screen. "It's one of my kids." I kept on signing my name on every other line for five million pages as she answered the phone. "This is not an emergency!" she said sternly. "No, I will not buy brownies for you on my way home!"
I don't know what it was about that brief conversation, but something started to click for me. I looked at her. I looked at her full name on her paperwork. "So...do you live around here?" I casually asked.
"Not too far away, I live in [town where I used to work]."
"What school do your kids go to?"
"[Schools where I taught]"
"...Did I teach your kids?"
Just like I had done moments before, she eyed me carefully and then looked down at the paperwork. "Oh! Miss Jentastic! I didn't recognize you!"
"Well, whenever you saw me, I was dressed nicely and wearing makeup and heels. When you come to my house to teach me how to stab myself, you get yoga pants and a ponytail."
From that moment on, Nurse Shelly and I were best friends. She filled me in on how her kids were doing (I'd taught the oldest two) and how much she wanted to kill her now 14-year-old son. "I don't know what happened to him. I'm going to snap one day and say, 'look, I don't think I can even have a reasonable conversation with you for the next three years'."
"You're not the first parent to tell me that. Middle school teachers get a lot of parents wondering where their sweet little babies went and where these monsters came from."
"Do you want him? You know how skinny he is, he doesn't take up much room. He'd fit in that closet right over there. He does eat a lot, though."
"That's really nice of you to offer, but I'm going to have to pass."
She then gave me a hilarious rendition of her son's phone conversations with girls and I asked how the rest of his little social group was doing. I was being honest with her when I told her that his class was a really great group of kids and I'd enjoyed working with them so very much and she told me that I must have had an infinite amount of patience (I got that a lot). Somewhere in there, we started talking about various methods of classroom management and discipline and she told me about the time the (scary strict) social studies teacher made her son's class write letters home about how they had misbehaved for a substitute teacher. I told her that I once had a class write letters of apology to the custodians after they left a mess, but it wasn't her son's class, as his class knew better. "I'm sure your kids told you, I don't mess around," I said. She had zero issues with how my colleague and I had handled these situations, which was so refreshing to hear, as it seems that more parents than not are the "Not my child!" type these days.
Amidst our shooting the shit, we did actually remember that she was there for a reason. After finally finishing up the paperwork, Nurse Shelly pulled out the practice kit. Inside were syringes filled with water and a little foam pad that was supposed to be like my skin. "It's nothing like your actual skin," she told me. "In fact, most patients say it's easier when you finally do it on yourself." Using a pencil to demonstrate, she showed me what I was going to do and the motion I would use. "It's a flick of the wrist. Just like throwing a dart. Go back to your college days, when you were throwing darts at the bars." Nurse Shelly apparently knows me better than I thought.
After flicking my wrist with the pencil, it was time for the practice syringes. I took one out of the pack, uncapped it...and immediately felt nauseous. I was expecting one of those little insulin-type pen things...but no. No. This was a needle. A huge fucking needle. "This whole thing is going in my leg?" I weakly asked.
"Yes. Sorry."
"It's a good thing I'm already sitting down...You don't have to tell your kids about this part."
A few more flicks into the foam and a little more gossip about her kids and their friends, and it was time. I rolled up my pant leg and she showed me how to make a little cushion of flesh for the needle to go into. She also warned me that a lot of patients said the medication burned going in the first time. Greeeeeat. Before I could take the real medication-loaded syringes out of the pack, she stopped me. "Twenty minutes," she said.
"What?"
"Twenty minutes. It takes everyone at least twenty minutes before they can do the real thing. Don't squeeze the syringe too tight. Your hand will go numb, because it's going to take twenty minutes. Keep both feet flat on the floor, because it's going to take twenty minutes. When you make your little mountain for the needle, don't squeeze too tight there, either. Because you'll lose circulation because it's going to take -"
"Twenty minutes. I got it."
"Right. So don't worry about it. I can start dinner, if you want. I've fed babies, I've walked the dog, all sorts of things while people sit there with the syringe. For twenty minutes."
"Eh, it's just a pasta night, I'll just start boiling the water after you leave. But thanks."
She nodded. "Now, you're also going to have little red dots all over your leg by the time we're done here."
"Why?"
"About fifteen minutes in, you're going to very gently put the needle to your skin...and pull it away. Then you'll test the waters again...and pull it away. But it's okay. Don't worry about it. Everyone takes twenty minutes."
"Well, then I guess we might as well get started."
I ripped open the little packet and took out the alcohol swab. I picked a place on top of my thigh that looked pretty good and rubbed it down. I uncapped the syringe, tried not to look at the giant fucking needle and made my little flesh mountain with my other hand.
"Close your eyes," Nurse Shelly instructed. "And take a deep breath."
I did as I was told. And then I opened my eyes and jammed that motherfucker right in there. Nurse Shelly gaped at me in shock and awe. "Uh...wow. Okay. Now just push it down."
"That wasn't so b...okay, it burns. Now it burns. Ow. Ow. Ow. It's burning. Okay, it's done. How do I take it out?"
And since this medication was so super-awesome, I got to do it all over again! Because each dose was separated into two syringes! Fan-freaking-tastic.
Once I was done, Nurse Shelly was still shaking her head and marveling at me. "You are the fastest person I have ever seen."
"I told you I don't mess around. Just ask your kids."
"I should take you with me to all my appointments." She started filling out one last bit of paperwork. "I'll just need to you to sign one more thing."
"Make sure that you write down that I took less than twenty minutes."
"Oh, I am. I definitely am."
"You can tell your kids that part."
We cleaned up, I signed everything else that needed to be signed, and we hugged each other like the best friends we now were before I walked her to the door. Even as she was leaving, she was still surprised at my lightning-fast speed. I am just that spectacular.
In reflecting upon this, I haven't decided if it's a good or a bad thing if your child's teacher will just fearlessly slam a loaded syringe into their leg without worrying about it first. I mean, it's not like it was filled with heroin or anything. It contained magic fluids that were going to allegedly make me feel better and it had to be done eventually, so I just went and got my shit done. It wasn't fun, it didn't tickle, but it is what it is. And maybe if I ever do go back to teaching (highly unlikely in the near future), word will get around. "Don't fuck around in her classroom. She's not afraid to stab herself with giant needles." That's right, kids. There will be no fucking around.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Evolution: Survival of the Shittiest
I am a huge fan of Judge Judy, and an unashamed and unapologetic one at that. For at least the past five years, 4:00 EST has always been "knitting and Judge Judy time", no matter what. I think it's what kept me sane in grad school, because regardless of how much pointless boring shit I had to get done, I would drop everything and take that hour for myself to recharge. I'm not going to sit here and ramble on at length about why she and the show are awesome and why I love it so much; I don't feel I need to argue my point here because it's my damn (co-)blog and my opinion is always right. I'll just sum it up by saying she says the things to people that everyone else WISHES they could say, but don't (probably in fear of getting punched in the face).
As awesome as the Shingaling is at smacking down the morons that appear before her, I'm not going to lie - the show is worrisome at times. Obviously, the people on the show represent only a small section of society, but still...watching some of these idiots is scary. And the most frightening part of it is the fact that an overwhelming majority of them have already reproduced. Many many times over, in some cases.
In general, every generation seems to think that theirs is the best and that the current one is fucking everything up and they get all wistful for the way "things used to be". I'm not sure if I completely agree with that. Part of me is (already) old and crochety and shakes my head while thinking "kids these days!" and waving a rake at them to get off my lawn while complaining that their music is too loud (or whatever it is old people do). The other part is well aware of the fact that there have been major fuck-ups in EVERY generation and that age has nothing to do with fuck-up-ery.
I think part of the reason for the wistfulness and the headshaking is that every single thing is more publicized these days. We, as a society, bitch and moan every time we can't find something to watch on our 300 cable channels, but then complain about the famewhores and other tools that appear on them. Which brings us back around to my beloved Judge Judy. Fifty years ago, these assholes still existed. They just acted like assholes in private and only a small handful of people witnessed their behavior, rather than the millions that can now.
Now here's a question: Is this a good thing or a bad thing? I really don't know. For me, I do get satisfaction at watching these people who have scammed their way through life, wasting resources and oxygen, finally have to listen to someone call them out on their shit. (Does it make a difference? Probably not. Though I do hope she follows through on her threats and reports some of these people to the IRS or their employers or whatnot.) As someone who taught in the public schools for a number of years, I've seen my fair share of people who NEVER SHOULD HAVE HAD KIDS and have had to bite my tongue practically off in order to avoid losing my job/the aforementioned punch to the face. I've also seen the kids who WILL be in court one day and it will be the very first time (if we're lucky) that they will have to be held accountable for their behavior and actions, because it sure as shit isn't happening now.
(In the interests of full disclosure, I will freely admit the obvious and say that one of the reasons I get so much enjoyment from watching the show is pure schadenfreude. Sure, I may have been laid off from my job and I may be a full-time student again in my late 20s and I may not own my own house yet and there are all sorts of other things that aren't perfect, but hey! I'm definitely better off than that fool on my TV screen!)
Even though we've established that idiots have been in our mix since the beginning of time, in thinking about it, I really think there has been a swing lately (like maybe the past couple decades). So many of the cases are exactly the same - girl meets boy, boy is a loser, girl buys him stuff and loans him money anyway, then is surprised when he doesn't pay her back. Bonus points if they had a baby (or several) together somewhere in there. Only half a bonus point if she already had kids and rather than saving money for them, she went out and spent it on her flava of the month.
(I realize I'm probably being a bit sexist here, and there are definitely times when the situation is reversed, when the man spent money on his dippy girlfriend and then she hightailed it out of there, but as I'm making a very poor attempt at being halfway science-y, we're talking about evolution here and I'm going to aim a lot at the womenfolk. Unfair as it may be, a lot, if not most, of matters concerning reproduction is still up to the ladies.)
I'll be blunt: What happened? Where did our standards go? Fifty years ago, if you were a lazy bum who refused to get a job and was still slumming it in your parents' basement, you were left there to rot. It was shameful, not something to be proud of. And you usually weren't rewarded for your inaction with sex, because in a time where not as many women worked outside the home, they sure didn't want to forever hitch their wagons to losers who couldn't provide for them.
Obviously, we've made great strides, and I for one am thrilled that I am not destined for a life of being a bored housewife, as I think I would go crazy. (And if you do want to be a housewife, super! We've achieved the right to choose for ourselves! Go us!) But somewhere along the way, something shifted. It almost seems that as our standards for ourselves got higher, the standards for those we allow to stick their dicks in us got lower.
Many men who do nothing but sit around a basement playing video games for 23 hours a day or hang out with their boys and drink their weight in beer on a nightly basis somehow don't seem to have much of a problem finding a woman willing to fuck them. (Now, there's nothing wrong with playing video games, as I've been known to spend many a weekend sitting on my squishy ass and zoning out to them for many consecutive hours...but I also get the rest of my shit done.) And not only will a woman fuck them, but sometimes she'll play fast and loose with her birth control, silently implying that it's okay to make another generation of bums.
Even though some days it seems like I've handed in my girlcard, I'm going to stand on my soapbox and call out to the rest of the sisterhood:
WE CAN DO BETTER.
Since the days of the cavemen and cavewomen, it has been up to us to seek out the very best sperm to fertilize our happy little eggs in order to ensure that our children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren are the very best they can be. Unfortunately, I think we lost a bit of that. The urge to have sex is a primal, biological drive, but some of us seem to have evolved into not caring so much about WHAT we're fucking.
The maternal instinct is still in us. We want to reach out and cuddle the poor, lost souls and help them to become better people and we want to be the strong woman supporting our superhero. That's all well and good, but unfortunately, some people just don't want to be helped. A lot of women genuinely believe that when dating a guy, they can change him (either into what they want him to be or for the general "better), but you know what? 99% of the time it just ain't gonna happen.
Can people change? Of course they can. But if a guy's had a life free of responsibility and is content with basically doing nothing with said life, a well-meaning girlfriend isn't going to change all that. She may nag him, but the droning can be tuned out if he gets to bang her enough. And then when a condom breaks or a pill is missed (assuming they were used in the first place) and the baby arrives, Mommy is sometimes shocked to find out that Daddy STILL doesn't want to take responsibility for anything in his life. Even something that looks nearly exactly like him.
So I return to my soapbox: Let's put an end to this. Let's stop and think about what we're doing to the future. Let's seriously evaluate our priorities when choosing that prime sperm and let's not reinforce bad behavior. If a guy is unmotivated to do anything even remotely productive...don't have sex with him. I'll give a nod to the primal urges, though, and say that if he's drop-dead gorgeous and his cock is just irresistible, sometimes it's useless to try to fight nature, but for Darwin's sake, use a condom AND spermicide AND take a pill AND do everything else you can possibly think of to make sure YOU DO NOT CREATE A GENETIC LOSER. I'll even flip it around for the men as well: if you do not like the idea of having a child with a particular woman...don't put your unsheathed penis anywhere near her.
We can do this. We can save the future. Judge Judy isn't going to be around forever to deal out the scathing remarks to the morons. Let's allow her to retire happily and become obsolete as we set the bar higher for ourselves.
(Note: I'm aware, of course, that in today's economy, a lot of people are struggling and jobs are hard to come by and plenty of people are still crashing with their parents and so on. That's fine. I myself have gone back to school since I couldn't find employment, but you'll notice that I am not rushing right out to go have a baby for lack of better things to do. What we're talking about here is motivation and the desire to be a productive member of society, and I think those are intangible things that aren't measured by salary or possessions. We should all know the difference between the type of people I've written about and the people who may currently be having a rough time of things, but are always actively trying to improve their situations. You have my permission to fuck the people in the latter category, but as always, birth control is MANDATORY until said situations do get better.)
As awesome as the Shingaling is at smacking down the morons that appear before her, I'm not going to lie - the show is worrisome at times. Obviously, the people on the show represent only a small section of society, but still...watching some of these idiots is scary. And the most frightening part of it is the fact that an overwhelming majority of them have already reproduced. Many many times over, in some cases.
In general, every generation seems to think that theirs is the best and that the current one is fucking everything up and they get all wistful for the way "things used to be". I'm not sure if I completely agree with that. Part of me is (already) old and crochety and shakes my head while thinking "kids these days!" and waving a rake at them to get off my lawn while complaining that their music is too loud (or whatever it is old people do). The other part is well aware of the fact that there have been major fuck-ups in EVERY generation and that age has nothing to do with fuck-up-ery.
 |
| "Things were way better when we were apes. And the rhythmic beating of sticks on rocks the kids are listening to these days? Yeesh." |
I think part of the reason for the wistfulness and the headshaking is that every single thing is more publicized these days. We, as a society, bitch and moan every time we can't find something to watch on our 300 cable channels, but then complain about the famewhores and other tools that appear on them. Which brings us back around to my beloved Judge Judy. Fifty years ago, these assholes still existed. They just acted like assholes in private and only a small handful of people witnessed their behavior, rather than the millions that can now.
Now here's a question: Is this a good thing or a bad thing? I really don't know. For me, I do get satisfaction at watching these people who have scammed their way through life, wasting resources and oxygen, finally have to listen to someone call them out on their shit. (Does it make a difference? Probably not. Though I do hope she follows through on her threats and reports some of these people to the IRS or their employers or whatnot.) As someone who taught in the public schools for a number of years, I've seen my fair share of people who NEVER SHOULD HAVE HAD KIDS and have had to bite my tongue practically off in order to avoid losing my job/the aforementioned punch to the face. I've also seen the kids who WILL be in court one day and it will be the very first time (if we're lucky) that they will have to be held accountable for their behavior and actions, because it sure as shit isn't happening now.
(In the interests of full disclosure, I will freely admit the obvious and say that one of the reasons I get so much enjoyment from watching the show is pure schadenfreude. Sure, I may have been laid off from my job and I may be a full-time student again in my late 20s and I may not own my own house yet and there are all sorts of other things that aren't perfect, but hey! I'm definitely better off than that fool on my TV screen!)
Even though we've established that idiots have been in our mix since the beginning of time, in thinking about it, I really think there has been a swing lately (like maybe the past couple decades). So many of the cases are exactly the same - girl meets boy, boy is a loser, girl buys him stuff and loans him money anyway, then is surprised when he doesn't pay her back. Bonus points if they had a baby (or several) together somewhere in there. Only half a bonus point if she already had kids and rather than saving money for them, she went out and spent it on her flava of the month.
(I realize I'm probably being a bit sexist here, and there are definitely times when the situation is reversed, when the man spent money on his dippy girlfriend and then she hightailed it out of there, but as I'm making a very poor attempt at being halfway science-y, we're talking about evolution here and I'm going to aim a lot at the womenfolk. Unfair as it may be, a lot, if not most, of matters concerning reproduction is still up to the ladies.)
I'll be blunt: What happened? Where did our standards go? Fifty years ago, if you were a lazy bum who refused to get a job and was still slumming it in your parents' basement, you were left there to rot. It was shameful, not something to be proud of. And you usually weren't rewarded for your inaction with sex, because in a time where not as many women worked outside the home, they sure didn't want to forever hitch their wagons to losers who couldn't provide for them.
Obviously, we've made great strides, and I for one am thrilled that I am not destined for a life of being a bored housewife, as I think I would go crazy. (And if you do want to be a housewife, super! We've achieved the right to choose for ourselves! Go us!) But somewhere along the way, something shifted. It almost seems that as our standards for ourselves got higher, the standards for those we allow to stick their dicks in us got lower.
Many men who do nothing but sit around a basement playing video games for 23 hours a day or hang out with their boys and drink their weight in beer on a nightly basis somehow don't seem to have much of a problem finding a woman willing to fuck them. (Now, there's nothing wrong with playing video games, as I've been known to spend many a weekend sitting on my squishy ass and zoning out to them for many consecutive hours...but I also get the rest of my shit done.) And not only will a woman fuck them, but sometimes she'll play fast and loose with her birth control, silently implying that it's okay to make another generation of bums.
 |
| "My ovaries are all a-quiver!" |
Even though some days it seems like I've handed in my girlcard, I'm going to stand on my soapbox and call out to the rest of the sisterhood:
WE CAN DO BETTER.
Since the days of the cavemen and cavewomen, it has been up to us to seek out the very best sperm to fertilize our happy little eggs in order to ensure that our children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren are the very best they can be. Unfortunately, I think we lost a bit of that. The urge to have sex is a primal, biological drive, but some of us seem to have evolved into not caring so much about WHAT we're fucking.
The maternal instinct is still in us. We want to reach out and cuddle the poor, lost souls and help them to become better people and we want to be the strong woman supporting our superhero. That's all well and good, but unfortunately, some people just don't want to be helped. A lot of women genuinely believe that when dating a guy, they can change him (either into what they want him to be or for the general "better), but you know what? 99% of the time it just ain't gonna happen.
Can people change? Of course they can. But if a guy's had a life free of responsibility and is content with basically doing nothing with said life, a well-meaning girlfriend isn't going to change all that. She may nag him, but the droning can be tuned out if he gets to bang her enough. And then when a condom breaks or a pill is missed (assuming they were used in the first place) and the baby arrives, Mommy is sometimes shocked to find out that Daddy STILL doesn't want to take responsibility for anything in his life. Even something that looks nearly exactly like him.
 |
| Irresponsibility makes babies cry MORE. |
So I return to my soapbox: Let's put an end to this. Let's stop and think about what we're doing to the future. Let's seriously evaluate our priorities when choosing that prime sperm and let's not reinforce bad behavior. If a guy is unmotivated to do anything even remotely productive...don't have sex with him. I'll give a nod to the primal urges, though, and say that if he's drop-dead gorgeous and his cock is just irresistible, sometimes it's useless to try to fight nature, but for Darwin's sake, use a condom AND spermicide AND take a pill AND do everything else you can possibly think of to make sure YOU DO NOT CREATE A GENETIC LOSER. I'll even flip it around for the men as well: if you do not like the idea of having a child with a particular woman...don't put your unsheathed penis anywhere near her.
We can do this. We can save the future. Judge Judy isn't going to be around forever to deal out the scathing remarks to the morons. Let's allow her to retire happily and become obsolete as we set the bar higher for ourselves.
(Note: I'm aware, of course, that in today's economy, a lot of people are struggling and jobs are hard to come by and plenty of people are still crashing with their parents and so on. That's fine. I myself have gone back to school since I couldn't find employment, but you'll notice that I am not rushing right out to go have a baby for lack of better things to do. What we're talking about here is motivation and the desire to be a productive member of society, and I think those are intangible things that aren't measured by salary or possessions. We should all know the difference between the type of people I've written about and the people who may currently be having a rough time of things, but are always actively trying to improve their situations. You have my permission to fuck the people in the latter category, but as always, birth control is MANDATORY until said situations do get better.)
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Small reflection on my non-alcoholism and marketing design.
Well, it's been a while since I updated. I'm sadly in the middle of exams (fucking finals), but I want a little rest and fun after a whole afternoon and early night checking time diagrams depending on binary inputs... Fun... well, not...
Anyway, I was thinking about something that happened a few days back. Last friday I was stressed as shit, so I thought "You know what, Myself? I WANT BOOZE TOO." while talking with my fellow blogger here (that has updated more often than I have lately).
So, I told her I'd be right back and then walked to the grocery store to get the vehicle of cerebral intoxication for the destruction of neurones we all know as... BEER...
I walked to the fridge in the corner I NEVER had visited. THE BOOZE CORNER.
My eyes scanned the whole two fridges trying to choose with what I was going to poison myself in a responsible way (Or so I say, so fuck you, naysayers!). Then, I saw a small cache of cans of beer that are a reddish purple. "That one!" I thought. I reached out to grab, but noticed they were grouped in packs of six. I stopped and thought "Wait... I don't have money to buy a whole six pack!" Then I asked a clerk "Hey, are the beer cans sold individually, or in packs of six?" The guy immediately gave me a weird look. "Individually." Well, the guy was right. I was out of the norm. It was actually my FIRST time buying beer. I have consumed it, but never bought it myself. Not being a regular of the local custom of drinking parties, I had remained oblivious to the ins and outs of the booze-drinking world.
I went back and picked two cans of beer. I brought them to the counter and paid for them. I came back home and prepared to drink them until... "Alcohol free". My eyes fixated themselves on the label...
"FUCK!! I'VE BEEN HAD!! BY MYSELF!!"
Then I started thinking "Hey, what's the probability of this happening!?" Pretty low, I guess, but since I don't really give a crap about a concrete number, I'm not going to attempt calculating it.
Anyhow, I remembered that event a few minutes ago (as of writing this). It's not just probability. The packaging is what drew me to buy those cans. They had a pretty, dark, reddish purple color. The normal booze was in shades of gray and light blues. The impact of the coloring DOES play an important role in how we select the products we buy. It's a marketing strategy that's studied with psychology, only I had never really paid ANY attention to it.
That means I'm a conscious (now) victim of those fucking psychologists! ARGH! =P
Classy Hussy: Patience is a Virtue, Part II
(In case the "Part II" didn't alert you to the fact that this is a continuation, go read this first.)
Part I left off at Super Bowl weekend during my senior year of college. All sorts of stuff not relevant to this story happens, and my posse and I graduate in May. (Except for Tojo, who got kicked out of his school for not going to class, that lazy shit.) Real life kicks off for most of us, and hey! It turns out that real life is not nearly as fun as college. Boo.
Somewhere in the passing year, I hear from Dr. ManDiva and/or facebook that PartyBoy and AntiPartyGirl have gotten engaged. Yay for them, I guess? They seemed a little on the young side, but my rule of thumb has always been "you should be of legal drinking age at your own wedding reception", and by that point, both of them passed that test, so I wasn't going to argue. We all merrily go about living our lives and sometime after the one-year anniversary of our graduation, I go out with Dr. ManDiva and some other members of the Hussy Posse.
"Did you hear about what happened with PartyBoy and AntiPartyGirl?" he asks me.
"I did not."
He fills me in on the gossip. (This shall be a vague summary because 1) this conversation took place a long time ago and 2) it didn't have anything to do with me directly, so I admit my attention was sort of in and out.) PartyBoy and AntiPartyGirl did, in fact, get engaged and started planning a lavish wedding. There were engagement parties and showers and all sorts of other celebrations, during which Dr. ManDiva and two of his friends dropped some serious cash on a gift, as even the cheapest thing on their wedding registry was expensive enough that it had to be split three ways. All was good, until it came time to choose a wedding date.
PartyBoy suggests a date within a few months. AntiPartyGirl hems and haws and doesn't want to commit to it. She suggests a date a year from PartyBoy's suggestion. He is not happy with this. They argue. He tells her that if she doesn't want to marry him in a few months, what's going to change her mind in a year? She agrees with his logic...and calls the whole thing off. Oops. That backfired slightly, methinks.
PartyBoy was devestated, and Dr. ManDiva and one of the gift sharers decide to take him out to a baseball game to cheer him up a week after the breakup. They go to the game, and he seems to be in better spirits...until they run into AntiPartyGirl. Who is there with another guy. A guy who she had always claimed was "just a friend". It was clear that he wasn't. Ouch. Ouch.
I resist the urge to call up NotBrendanFraser right then and there to bitch him out yet again. Why? By my logic, had he not pulled the pussyblock that night over a year ago, PartyBoy and I would have had a sublime night of ecstasy, which could have led to a dissolution of this doomed relationship in a number of ways. Sure, the breakup would have hurt either way, but breaking up with a girlfriend is a lot less painful than than cancelling a wedding and debating whether or not to return the very expensive gifts your friends and family have bought you. I maintain that by trying to help his friend and interfering, NotBrendanF actually did MORE damage in the long run. Moral of the story: the pussyblock is very rarely a good move. Don't do the pussyblock. Ever.
Anyway, I file this information away in my head for later use and more time passes. Dr. ManDiva comes home for Thanksgiving and starts planning a New Year's Eve party. It is decided that NotBrendanF and his brother will host the party in the house they now share in their hometown and as they live two hours away from most of us, we can crash there for the night.
The lightbulb goes on over my head and I ask Dr. ManDiva 1) if PartyBoy is going to be at the party and 2) if he's currently seeing anyone. He tells me yes and no, in that order. Win! Not long after this, the oh-so-helpful facebook alerts me to PartyBoy's birthday. I send him a cute little note wishing him a happy birthday, asking how he's been, and suggesting that it would be really great to see him at NotBrendanF's party. He happily responds and tells me that I should definitely go to the party and catch up with him. Hell yes, I will.
The Hussy Posse makes a traditional late-night run to the super-skeevy White Castle in the middle of the night and I fill the rest of them in on what's been going on. "Guys," I start, "I really want to hook up with this guy. I need a plan."
One of the other posse members, Scut, shakes his head at me and rolls his eyes. "Jen, what are you talking about?" he sighs in exasperation. "You're a woman and you're hot. You don't need a plan to get laid. You walk up to a man and say 'Have sex with me!' End of story."
He may have had a point. And I didn't have a better plan anyway, so all I could do was wait for New Year's to roll around. Roll around it did, and Dr. ManDiva, Tojo, and I pile into one of the Present-Sharer's car with our overnight gear and head back up to the frozen wastelands of upstate New York. Due to our longer travel time, we are the last to arrive at the party; PartyBoy is already there, along with some other guys and a random chick. (THE MANATEE WAS NOT PRESENT.) PartyBoy and I are excited to learn that our sizzling chemistry has not vanished in the year and a half since we've last seen each other and the game is on.
It is a party, after all, so we start out with some beer pong in the kitchen. Obviously, PartyBoy and I ensure we are on the same team and there is all sorts of inappropriate behavior.
"If you don't make this shot, I'm going to slap your ass!"
"...So am I supposed to be making the shot or not?"
The teasing continues, but there are other people around, so it doesn't progress much past the grabbing of asses. I notice the random chick casting a glance at PartyBoy, and I pull her aside to let her know "he's mine tonight, bitch". She concedes this and lets me know that she has her eye on NotBrendanF anyway. I'm almost interested in this, but I have better things to do.
Eventually, everyone else goes into the living room to drink more and smoke a little, and PartyBoy and I are left alone in the kitchen. I was only at this party for about an hour before his tongue was in my mouth. I guess Scut was right after all.
We sneak kisses here and there in between bouts of Guitar Hero and watching the ball drop at midnight (more kissing there, of course). Now that it's after midnight, it's time to REALLY get things started. NotBrendanF calls a cab and we (me, him, PartyBoy, Dr. ManDiva, Tojo, and the random chick) all cram inside in a vaguely not-legal situation. We get downtown to where the clubs are and as soon as we get out of the cab, Tojo, who is drunk and high and on his second shirt of the evening since he vomited on the first one, bolts. He went to college in this town (before the dumb shit flunked out) and he knows where we're going, so we decide not to go after him and head to our chosen club.
There's loud music and more alcohol and lots of grinding and groping and making out and it's a damn good time. Somewhere in there, PartyBoy tells me he has a confession: he hasn't seen any action since his breakup with AntiPartyGirl. I give him the "buh??" look and refuse to believe him, as he's still a total hottie. He tells me it's true. I tell him we're going to change that.
Hours pass and after an entertaining moment where some drunk guy tried to cut in front of us at the coat check line, made a scene, and got tossed out on his ass by the bouncer, we decide it's time to head back to the house. Calls to Tojo are unsuccessful, as his cell phone ran out of battery power, but somehow, he miraculously stumbles upon us as we're leaving the bar and helps us look for a cab. As you can imagine, it is difficult to find one, as it's New Year's Eve and it is snowing. PartyBoy and I frolic hand-in-hand for a bit and cuddle under the snowflakes, but eventually, Dr. ManDiva finds a cab with only one passenger inside, and we hijack it and probably scare the shit out of this poor stranger.
We get back to the house and Dr. ManDiva pulls me aside. He tells me that he has the keys to his younger brother's dorm (as his brother still went to school in that town) and was planning on sleeping there so he wouldn't have to sleep on the floor. He invites me back with him and offers me the "sure thing". I sincerely thank him for the offer, because we did have some awesome sex from time to time, but I tell him that I want to see this thing through with PartyBoy. He understands and takes off.
The rest of us change into our pajamas and spread out our sleeping bags. I set up near the edge of the room, PartyBoy is next to me, Tojo is next to him, and everyone else is scattered about on the floor and the couches. (NotBrendanF went to his bedroom, of course...the random chick joined him, but he told us the next day he turned her down because he had a girlfriend at the time.) Tojo, that dumb shit (are we sensing a recurring theme here?), realizes that he left his pillow at home, so he takes his plastic grocery bag of clothing and decides to rest his head on that.
The lights are turned out and PartyBoy and I resume our kissing and groping. Our plan is to wait until everyone else is asleep and then really get down to business. (And by "business", I obviously mean "sex".) We have fun passing the time, but every time we think that everyone else is asleep, we hear the rustle of plastic from Tojo flopping around on his makeshift pillow. Oh, Tojo. *sigh*
Frustrated, we eventually realize that our original plan is not going to work out (and why the thought of going into the other room and fucking on the beer pong table never crossed our minds, I'll never know) and we need to do something less...conspicuous. He fingers me and it's decent. I reach around for the unpierced penis and know that it's my turn to reciprocate.
I quietly duck my head under the sleeping bag and make sure that everything's out in the open and easily accessible. I take his dick in my hands, go to put it in my mouth...and as soon as the head passes my lips, he comes.
...
Wha?
Since I'm a Classy Hussy, I did the right thing and went through the motions until I was sure he was completely done. And since I'm classy, I didn't bring it to his attention. (I'm sure he didn't need me to point out that he only lasted about five seconds...you know, based on this and the Death By Blowjob story, I'm starting to think that my skills in this area really are far above average.) We wrap our arms around each other and get into the snuggling position; once I'm sure that he's asleep, I extract myself from his grip and scoot over a few inches to fall asleep on my own. Jentastic don't cuddle, yo. Don't fucking touch me when I'm trying to sleep.
The morning comes, we all go eat breakfast, watch a movie, and say our farewells. PartyBoy and I give each other a half-assed hug and pretend we're going to call each other in the next few weeks before he heads back to the city where he'd been living following graduation. Everything is always shared with the posse, so when Dr. ManDiva and I go out for sushi a few days later, I spill all the details. Up to and including the shortest blowjob ever. He finds this very interesting and ponders it for a few moments.
"Well, he did say that he hadn't gotten any in a long time," I remind him.
"True. And your boobs are a LOT bigger and nicer than AntiPartyGirl's," he points out.
"Also true. Anyway, I'm really glad we didn't actually have sex. That would have been an epic disappointment. I would have been very unfulfilled."
"I told you you should have come with me that night."
Even though it didn't work out the exact way I had planned, I still consider this a move into the "win" column. It took me almost two years, but I eventually finished what I started, dammit. So there you have it. I guess I am a far more patient person than I originally thought.
(a quick little coda to this story: The following year, Dr. ManDiva hosted the New Year's Eve party at his parents' vacation house. I was already dating Husband by that point and brought him along. Upon our arrival, I was interested to learn that PartyBoy's hotness factor had dropped considerably since the previous year's festivities. I guess living on nothing but take-out will do that to you. Anyway, he hit on me all night, tried to reminisce about the good time we had, and went to kiss me when Husband was in the bathroom. I pushed him away and told him he'd already had his chance and if he wanted me, he should have picked up the damn phone a year ago. I still think I win.)
Part I left off at Super Bowl weekend during my senior year of college. All sorts of stuff not relevant to this story happens, and my posse and I graduate in May. (Except for Tojo, who got kicked out of his school for not going to class, that lazy shit.) Real life kicks off for most of us, and hey! It turns out that real life is not nearly as fun as college. Boo.
Somewhere in the passing year, I hear from Dr. ManDiva and/or facebook that PartyBoy and AntiPartyGirl have gotten engaged. Yay for them, I guess? They seemed a little on the young side, but my rule of thumb has always been "you should be of legal drinking age at your own wedding reception", and by that point, both of them passed that test, so I wasn't going to argue. We all merrily go about living our lives and sometime after the one-year anniversary of our graduation, I go out with Dr. ManDiva and some other members of the Hussy Posse.
"Did you hear about what happened with PartyBoy and AntiPartyGirl?" he asks me.
"I did not."
He fills me in on the gossip. (This shall be a vague summary because 1) this conversation took place a long time ago and 2) it didn't have anything to do with me directly, so I admit my attention was sort of in and out.) PartyBoy and AntiPartyGirl did, in fact, get engaged and started planning a lavish wedding. There were engagement parties and showers and all sorts of other celebrations, during which Dr. ManDiva and two of his friends dropped some serious cash on a gift, as even the cheapest thing on their wedding registry was expensive enough that it had to be split three ways. All was good, until it came time to choose a wedding date.
PartyBoy suggests a date within a few months. AntiPartyGirl hems and haws and doesn't want to commit to it. She suggests a date a year from PartyBoy's suggestion. He is not happy with this. They argue. He tells her that if she doesn't want to marry him in a few months, what's going to change her mind in a year? She agrees with his logic...and calls the whole thing off. Oops. That backfired slightly, methinks.
PartyBoy was devestated, and Dr. ManDiva and one of the gift sharers decide to take him out to a baseball game to cheer him up a week after the breakup. They go to the game, and he seems to be in better spirits...until they run into AntiPartyGirl. Who is there with another guy. A guy who she had always claimed was "just a friend". It was clear that he wasn't. Ouch. Ouch.
I resist the urge to call up NotBrendanFraser right then and there to bitch him out yet again. Why? By my logic, had he not pulled the pussyblock that night over a year ago, PartyBoy and I would have had a sublime night of ecstasy, which could have led to a dissolution of this doomed relationship in a number of ways. Sure, the breakup would have hurt either way, but breaking up with a girlfriend is a lot less painful than than cancelling a wedding and debating whether or not to return the very expensive gifts your friends and family have bought you. I maintain that by trying to help his friend and interfering, NotBrendanF actually did MORE damage in the long run. Moral of the story: the pussyblock is very rarely a good move. Don't do the pussyblock. Ever.
Anyway, I file this information away in my head for later use and more time passes. Dr. ManDiva comes home for Thanksgiving and starts planning a New Year's Eve party. It is decided that NotBrendanF and his brother will host the party in the house they now share in their hometown and as they live two hours away from most of us, we can crash there for the night.
The lightbulb goes on over my head and I ask Dr. ManDiva 1) if PartyBoy is going to be at the party and 2) if he's currently seeing anyone. He tells me yes and no, in that order. Win! Not long after this, the oh-so-helpful facebook alerts me to PartyBoy's birthday. I send him a cute little note wishing him a happy birthday, asking how he's been, and suggesting that it would be really great to see him at NotBrendanF's party. He happily responds and tells me that I should definitely go to the party and catch up with him. Hell yes, I will.
The Hussy Posse makes a traditional late-night run to the super-skeevy White Castle in the middle of the night and I fill the rest of them in on what's been going on. "Guys," I start, "I really want to hook up with this guy. I need a plan."
One of the other posse members, Scut, shakes his head at me and rolls his eyes. "Jen, what are you talking about?" he sighs in exasperation. "You're a woman and you're hot. You don't need a plan to get laid. You walk up to a man and say 'Have sex with me!' End of story."
He may have had a point. And I didn't have a better plan anyway, so all I could do was wait for New Year's to roll around. Roll around it did, and Dr. ManDiva, Tojo, and I pile into one of the Present-Sharer's car with our overnight gear and head back up to the frozen wastelands of upstate New York. Due to our longer travel time, we are the last to arrive at the party; PartyBoy is already there, along with some other guys and a random chick. (THE MANATEE WAS NOT PRESENT.) PartyBoy and I are excited to learn that our sizzling chemistry has not vanished in the year and a half since we've last seen each other and the game is on.
It is a party, after all, so we start out with some beer pong in the kitchen. Obviously, PartyBoy and I ensure we are on the same team and there is all sorts of inappropriate behavior.
"If you don't make this shot, I'm going to slap your ass!"
"...So am I supposed to be making the shot or not?"
The teasing continues, but there are other people around, so it doesn't progress much past the grabbing of asses. I notice the random chick casting a glance at PartyBoy, and I pull her aside to let her know "he's mine tonight, bitch". She concedes this and lets me know that she has her eye on NotBrendanF anyway. I'm almost interested in this, but I have better things to do.
Eventually, everyone else goes into the living room to drink more and smoke a little, and PartyBoy and I are left alone in the kitchen. I was only at this party for about an hour before his tongue was in my mouth. I guess Scut was right after all.
We sneak kisses here and there in between bouts of Guitar Hero and watching the ball drop at midnight (more kissing there, of course). Now that it's after midnight, it's time to REALLY get things started. NotBrendanF calls a cab and we (me, him, PartyBoy, Dr. ManDiva, Tojo, and the random chick) all cram inside in a vaguely not-legal situation. We get downtown to where the clubs are and as soon as we get out of the cab, Tojo, who is drunk and high and on his second shirt of the evening since he vomited on the first one, bolts. He went to college in this town (before the dumb shit flunked out) and he knows where we're going, so we decide not to go after him and head to our chosen club.
There's loud music and more alcohol and lots of grinding and groping and making out and it's a damn good time. Somewhere in there, PartyBoy tells me he has a confession: he hasn't seen any action since his breakup with AntiPartyGirl. I give him the "buh??" look and refuse to believe him, as he's still a total hottie. He tells me it's true. I tell him we're going to change that.
Hours pass and after an entertaining moment where some drunk guy tried to cut in front of us at the coat check line, made a scene, and got tossed out on his ass by the bouncer, we decide it's time to head back to the house. Calls to Tojo are unsuccessful, as his cell phone ran out of battery power, but somehow, he miraculously stumbles upon us as we're leaving the bar and helps us look for a cab. As you can imagine, it is difficult to find one, as it's New Year's Eve and it is snowing. PartyBoy and I frolic hand-in-hand for a bit and cuddle under the snowflakes, but eventually, Dr. ManDiva finds a cab with only one passenger inside, and we hijack it and probably scare the shit out of this poor stranger.
We get back to the house and Dr. ManDiva pulls me aside. He tells me that he has the keys to his younger brother's dorm (as his brother still went to school in that town) and was planning on sleeping there so he wouldn't have to sleep on the floor. He invites me back with him and offers me the "sure thing". I sincerely thank him for the offer, because we did have some awesome sex from time to time, but I tell him that I want to see this thing through with PartyBoy. He understands and takes off.
The rest of us change into our pajamas and spread out our sleeping bags. I set up near the edge of the room, PartyBoy is next to me, Tojo is next to him, and everyone else is scattered about on the floor and the couches. (NotBrendanF went to his bedroom, of course...the random chick joined him, but he told us the next day he turned her down because he had a girlfriend at the time.) Tojo, that dumb shit (are we sensing a recurring theme here?), realizes that he left his pillow at home, so he takes his plastic grocery bag of clothing and decides to rest his head on that.
The lights are turned out and PartyBoy and I resume our kissing and groping. Our plan is to wait until everyone else is asleep and then really get down to business. (And by "business", I obviously mean "sex".) We have fun passing the time, but every time we think that everyone else is asleep, we hear the rustle of plastic from Tojo flopping around on his makeshift pillow. Oh, Tojo. *sigh*
Frustrated, we eventually realize that our original plan is not going to work out (and why the thought of going into the other room and fucking on the beer pong table never crossed our minds, I'll never know) and we need to do something less...conspicuous. He fingers me and it's decent. I reach around for the unpierced penis and know that it's my turn to reciprocate.
I quietly duck my head under the sleeping bag and make sure that everything's out in the open and easily accessible. I take his dick in my hands, go to put it in my mouth...and as soon as the head passes my lips, he comes.
...
Wha?
Since I'm a Classy Hussy, I did the right thing and went through the motions until I was sure he was completely done. And since I'm classy, I didn't bring it to his attention. (I'm sure he didn't need me to point out that he only lasted about five seconds...you know, based on this and the Death By Blowjob story, I'm starting to think that my skills in this area really are far above average.) We wrap our arms around each other and get into the snuggling position; once I'm sure that he's asleep, I extract myself from his grip and scoot over a few inches to fall asleep on my own. Jentastic don't cuddle, yo. Don't fucking touch me when I'm trying to sleep.
The morning comes, we all go eat breakfast, watch a movie, and say our farewells. PartyBoy and I give each other a half-assed hug and pretend we're going to call each other in the next few weeks before he heads back to the city where he'd been living following graduation. Everything is always shared with the posse, so when Dr. ManDiva and I go out for sushi a few days later, I spill all the details. Up to and including the shortest blowjob ever. He finds this very interesting and ponders it for a few moments.
"Well, he did say that he hadn't gotten any in a long time," I remind him.
"True. And your boobs are a LOT bigger and nicer than AntiPartyGirl's," he points out.
"Also true. Anyway, I'm really glad we didn't actually have sex. That would have been an epic disappointment. I would have been very unfulfilled."
"I told you you should have come with me that night."
Even though it didn't work out the exact way I had planned, I still consider this a move into the "win" column. It took me almost two years, but I eventually finished what I started, dammit. So there you have it. I guess I am a far more patient person than I originally thought.
(a quick little coda to this story: The following year, Dr. ManDiva hosted the New Year's Eve party at his parents' vacation house. I was already dating Husband by that point and brought him along. Upon our arrival, I was interested to learn that PartyBoy's hotness factor had dropped considerably since the previous year's festivities. I guess living on nothing but take-out will do that to you. Anyway, he hit on me all night, tried to reminisce about the good time we had, and went to kiss me when Husband was in the bathroom. I pushed him away and told him he'd already had his chance and if he wanted me, he should have picked up the damn phone a year ago. I still think I win.)
Monday, December 5, 2011
Classy Hussy: Patience is a Virtue, Part I
I always claim to be an impatient person, but when I really sit down to think about it, I don't think that's really the case. (I mean, I was a teacher for five years, and some of that time was spent in elementary schools. Maybe I don't give myself enough credit.) Sometimes things just take a while to happen. Sometimes it's a long while.
This lovely tale starts not long after the previous Classy Hussy story, so make sure you're still picturing my smokin' hot college senior self (as opposed to my current smokin' hot self). That year, I wound up living in an old shithole of a house with Dr. ManDiva, who is one of my closest friends, and three of his friends/roommates - NotBrendanFraser (the resemblance is uncanny!), the Manatee, and someone who is irrelevant. Our house was sort of a crazy place - NotBrendanF didn't want to be in an official "relationship" with the Manatee, but she still let him fuck her every night, and Dr. ManDiva and I fooled around whenever there was a lack of better things to do and kept it a secret, and the irrelevant one would sometimes go out to bang random gangstas, but that's irrelevant. Dr. ManDiva later said that had he known ahead of time what our house was going to be like, he would have called up MTV to alert them to their new reality show.
Somewhere near the beginning of the school year, I was introduced to the friends of my friend and new roommates. Enter PartyBoy: as his pseudonym indicates, PartyBoy (who was pretty damn hot) was known for partying hard. Or at least he USED to party hard. By the time I met him, he was dating a girl we shall call...I don't know, AntiPartyGirl. (*shrug?*) AntiPartyGirl put a serious leash on PartyBoy; he had to massively cut down on his drinking and other herbal refreshments, take out his various piercings (yes, including...that one), and stop hooking up with chicks that weren't her. Many people resented AntiPartyGirl for allegedly killing PartyBoy's good time; however, as I never knew his previous incarnation, I didn't have a problem with her. Since I'm a good person (or can at least pretend to be), I was always nice to her and made sure to talk to her when she actually made an appearance at PartyBoy & Co.'s house parties; these acts of kindness did not go unnoticed by PartyBoy.
One Friday night in January, NotBrendanF and the Manatee wanted to go out to a local bar and I decided to join them. PartyBoy wound up meeting us there and we all started off with a pitcher of beer. While the Manatee was bitching and moaning about whatever it was that had annoyed her that day into the ear of poor NotBrendanF, PartyBoy and I start talking over our beers. He eventually confesses to me that he doesn't know if he's really happy with AntiPartyGirl and just feels they don't have a lot in common, blah blah blah. I've neglected to mention up until this point that I've had a boyfriend this whole time, but that relationship was nearly completely dead by January; I tell him that I understand, that I just feel like I'm at a totally different stage in life from my (younger) boyfriend and that we just don't click the way we used to. Cue the consumption of more beers and mutual venting about how "they just don't UNDERSTAAAAAAAAAAAND us!"
NotBrendanF and the Manatee were around us somewhere, but we hadn't really been paying attention to them. The Manatee starts whining to NotBrendanF about how she wants to dance! and he should take her out on the dance floor! because she really wants to dance! and come on, let's dance! NotBrendanF tries to get out of it by claiming he doesn't want to leave the two of us alone, but the Manatee will have none of this and says, "PartyBoy and Jen can just dance together!" ...Okay. Sure.
We get out there and do the usual clubbing thing - sort of bounce around to the music while the people who actually know what they're doing head to the center of the dance floor and get their groove on, or whatever the cool kids are calling it these days. As the night progresses, the music slows down and PartyBoy and I are getting rather cozy on the dance floor. We're pressed up against each other, he's stroking my hair and tickling the back of my neck, and we're whispering all sorts of mildly suggestive things into each other's ears. NotBrendanF sees all of this, but he has his hands full with the Manatee, so he can't really do much.
Last call is called and we leave the bar. PartyBoy lives much closer to the bar than the rest of us and he invites me back there. I mentally curse myself for not shaving my legs that morning, but whatever, it's winter in upstate New York and we have a nice buzz going anyway, it's a minor detail. NotBrendanF senses some hanky panky about to go down, and he jumps in and says he'll come with us. The Manatee, however, is completely oblivious to everything and starts mooing like the sea cow that she is that she wants a slice of pizza and NotBrendanF has to take her! Because she wants pizza! Like, really wants it! Now! As we've already established, he wasn't really all that good at saying no to her (this, luckily, did change in a few months) and he goes with her to the pizza place. PartyBoy and I make our escape to his place, knowing that after last call, the pizza place is always mobbed.
In an unusually cruel twist of fate, there was no line at the pizza place (for the first time in...well, ever) and the other two are back with us before anything happens. We hang out for a few minutes and then the Manatee starts bleating that she's ready to go home (GOD, she was annoying). As I wouldn't want to walk home by myself, I start openly debating whether or not I want to leave with them. PartyBoy invites me to stay and his subtext is clear. NotBrendanF, however, tells me that I want to leave. I don't believe him. He grabs my purse, shoves it into my hands, puts my jacket on my shoulders, and pushes me out the door. I manage to get out a sulky farewell to PartyBoy before I am led back out to the street.
For the entire walk home (maybe only about ten minutes or so), I loudly berate NotBrendanF. Seriously, I didn't let up the whole time. Even when he was urinating onto the side of some random house, I was bitching him out. (The Manatee was still oblivious to the rest of the world.) Somewhere in this lengthy rant, we establish that the female equivalent of the "cockblock" is the "pussyblock" and the name sticks. "You pussyblocked me! I can't believe you did the pussyblock, you asshole!" I continue to yell.
We get home, NotBrendanF puts the Manatee to bed so we don't have to deal with her, and then we sit down to have a serious conversation. He explains to me that while he was friends with both me and PartyBoy, he'd known PartyBoy longer and was afraid that he'd really regret cheating on AntiPartyGirl the next day. He says he wanted to be a good friend and prevent any bad feelings if he possibly could, which I could understand and respect...to a certain point. I remind him that I had not had sex in close to three months (I didn't count the Death By Blowjob incident, as I didn't get that much out of it, and I hadn't started sleeping with Dr. ManDiva at this point) and he was in a position where he was having sex every single night if he wanted it, so it wasn't really fair of him to deprive me of that. Likewise, he understood and respected my viewpoint.
Since we were mad classy in our shithole of a house, we come up with a solution to our problems: the following day (Saturday), we would each present our case to Dr. ManDiva (who wasn't around for this because he'd gone to some other college town to bang some random girl), and he, acting as the Kitchen Judge, would decide who was right and who was wrong. We stipulated ahead of time that if Judge ManDiva ruled in NotBrendanF's favor, I would only be allowed to be mad at him for the rest of Saturday. If I won the case, I would be allowed to be mad at him for Saturday, Monday, and Tuesday until 10:00PM, because that's when "Law & Order: Special Victims Unit" was on. I agreed to the terms that I would not be allowed to be mad at him in any circumstance on Sunday, because it was Super Bowl Sunday, and ergo, it was a day of peace.
Dr. ManDiva gets home Saturday morning from sticking his dick into that random girl from whatever town, and takes his place on top of the kitchen counters, calling the Kitchen Court to order. We each present our side and he seriously contemplates the situation (as in, for almost a full minute). His noble ruling is that we were both right and we were both wrong: NotBrendanF was trying to be a good friend, which is commendable, but as someone who was receiving sex on a daily basis, he was in no position to honorably perform the pussyblock. In a very fair compromise, the judgment decrees that I would be allowed to be mad for the rest of Saturday and Monday.
So I was a bit disappointed at not getting to fool around with the tantalizingly hot PartyBoy. Oh well, I thought, I guess it just wasn't meant to be. However, to make up for the bizarre circumstances regarding the lack of a pizza line, the universe would eventually smile upon me...
This lovely tale starts not long after the previous Classy Hussy story, so make sure you're still picturing my smokin' hot college senior self (as opposed to my current smokin' hot self). That year, I wound up living in an old shithole of a house with Dr. ManDiva, who is one of my closest friends, and three of his friends/roommates - NotBrendanFraser (the resemblance is uncanny!), the Manatee, and someone who is irrelevant. Our house was sort of a crazy place - NotBrendanF didn't want to be in an official "relationship" with the Manatee, but she still let him fuck her every night, and Dr. ManDiva and I fooled around whenever there was a lack of better things to do and kept it a secret, and the irrelevant one would sometimes go out to bang random gangstas, but that's irrelevant. Dr. ManDiva later said that had he known ahead of time what our house was going to be like, he would have called up MTV to alert them to their new reality show.
Somewhere near the beginning of the school year, I was introduced to the friends of my friend and new roommates. Enter PartyBoy: as his pseudonym indicates, PartyBoy (who was pretty damn hot) was known for partying hard. Or at least he USED to party hard. By the time I met him, he was dating a girl we shall call...I don't know, AntiPartyGirl. (*shrug?*) AntiPartyGirl put a serious leash on PartyBoy; he had to massively cut down on his drinking and other herbal refreshments, take out his various piercings (yes, including...that one), and stop hooking up with chicks that weren't her. Many people resented AntiPartyGirl for allegedly killing PartyBoy's good time; however, as I never knew his previous incarnation, I didn't have a problem with her. Since I'm a good person (or can at least pretend to be), I was always nice to her and made sure to talk to her when she actually made an appearance at PartyBoy & Co.'s house parties; these acts of kindness did not go unnoticed by PartyBoy.
One Friday night in January, NotBrendanF and the Manatee wanted to go out to a local bar and I decided to join them. PartyBoy wound up meeting us there and we all started off with a pitcher of beer. While the Manatee was bitching and moaning about whatever it was that had annoyed her that day into the ear of poor NotBrendanF, PartyBoy and I start talking over our beers. He eventually confesses to me that he doesn't know if he's really happy with AntiPartyGirl and just feels they don't have a lot in common, blah blah blah. I've neglected to mention up until this point that I've had a boyfriend this whole time, but that relationship was nearly completely dead by January; I tell him that I understand, that I just feel like I'm at a totally different stage in life from my (younger) boyfriend and that we just don't click the way we used to. Cue the consumption of more beers and mutual venting about how "they just don't UNDERSTAAAAAAAAAAAND us!"
NotBrendanF and the Manatee were around us somewhere, but we hadn't really been paying attention to them. The Manatee starts whining to NotBrendanF about how she wants to dance! and he should take her out on the dance floor! because she really wants to dance! and come on, let's dance! NotBrendanF tries to get out of it by claiming he doesn't want to leave the two of us alone, but the Manatee will have none of this and says, "PartyBoy and Jen can just dance together!" ...Okay. Sure.
We get out there and do the usual clubbing thing - sort of bounce around to the music while the people who actually know what they're doing head to the center of the dance floor and get their groove on, or whatever the cool kids are calling it these days. As the night progresses, the music slows down and PartyBoy and I are getting rather cozy on the dance floor. We're pressed up against each other, he's stroking my hair and tickling the back of my neck, and we're whispering all sorts of mildly suggestive things into each other's ears. NotBrendanF sees all of this, but he has his hands full with the Manatee, so he can't really do much.
Last call is called and we leave the bar. PartyBoy lives much closer to the bar than the rest of us and he invites me back there. I mentally curse myself for not shaving my legs that morning, but whatever, it's winter in upstate New York and we have a nice buzz going anyway, it's a minor detail. NotBrendanF senses some hanky panky about to go down, and he jumps in and says he'll come with us. The Manatee, however, is completely oblivious to everything and starts mooing like the sea cow that she is that she wants a slice of pizza and NotBrendanF has to take her! Because she wants pizza! Like, really wants it! Now! As we've already established, he wasn't really all that good at saying no to her (this, luckily, did change in a few months) and he goes with her to the pizza place. PartyBoy and I make our escape to his place, knowing that after last call, the pizza place is always mobbed.
In an unusually cruel twist of fate, there was no line at the pizza place (for the first time in...well, ever) and the other two are back with us before anything happens. We hang out for a few minutes and then the Manatee starts bleating that she's ready to go home (GOD, she was annoying). As I wouldn't want to walk home by myself, I start openly debating whether or not I want to leave with them. PartyBoy invites me to stay and his subtext is clear. NotBrendanF, however, tells me that I want to leave. I don't believe him. He grabs my purse, shoves it into my hands, puts my jacket on my shoulders, and pushes me out the door. I manage to get out a sulky farewell to PartyBoy before I am led back out to the street.
For the entire walk home (maybe only about ten minutes or so), I loudly berate NotBrendanF. Seriously, I didn't let up the whole time. Even when he was urinating onto the side of some random house, I was bitching him out. (The Manatee was still oblivious to the rest of the world.) Somewhere in this lengthy rant, we establish that the female equivalent of the "cockblock" is the "pussyblock" and the name sticks. "You pussyblocked me! I can't believe you did the pussyblock, you asshole!" I continue to yell.
We get home, NotBrendanF puts the Manatee to bed so we don't have to deal with her, and then we sit down to have a serious conversation. He explains to me that while he was friends with both me and PartyBoy, he'd known PartyBoy longer and was afraid that he'd really regret cheating on AntiPartyGirl the next day. He says he wanted to be a good friend and prevent any bad feelings if he possibly could, which I could understand and respect...to a certain point. I remind him that I had not had sex in close to three months (I didn't count the Death By Blowjob incident, as I didn't get that much out of it, and I hadn't started sleeping with Dr. ManDiva at this point) and he was in a position where he was having sex every single night if he wanted it, so it wasn't really fair of him to deprive me of that. Likewise, he understood and respected my viewpoint.
Since we were mad classy in our shithole of a house, we come up with a solution to our problems: the following day (Saturday), we would each present our case to Dr. ManDiva (who wasn't around for this because he'd gone to some other college town to bang some random girl), and he, acting as the Kitchen Judge, would decide who was right and who was wrong. We stipulated ahead of time that if Judge ManDiva ruled in NotBrendanF's favor, I would only be allowed to be mad at him for the rest of Saturday. If I won the case, I would be allowed to be mad at him for Saturday, Monday, and Tuesday until 10:00PM, because that's when "Law & Order: Special Victims Unit" was on. I agreed to the terms that I would not be allowed to be mad at him in any circumstance on Sunday, because it was Super Bowl Sunday, and ergo, it was a day of peace.
Dr. ManDiva gets home Saturday morning from sticking his dick into that random girl from whatever town, and takes his place on top of the kitchen counters, calling the Kitchen Court to order. We each present our side and he seriously contemplates the situation (as in, for almost a full minute). His noble ruling is that we were both right and we were both wrong: NotBrendanF was trying to be a good friend, which is commendable, but as someone who was receiving sex on a daily basis, he was in no position to honorably perform the pussyblock. In a very fair compromise, the judgment decrees that I would be allowed to be mad for the rest of Saturday and Monday.
So I was a bit disappointed at not getting to fool around with the tantalizingly hot PartyBoy. Oh well, I thought, I guess it just wasn't meant to be. However, to make up for the bizarre circumstances regarding the lack of a pizza line, the universe would eventually smile upon me...
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Video Game Non-Review: Phantasy Star (Original Flava)
Once upon a time, many moons ago, there was a console called the Sega Master System. Alas, many people overlooked it in favor of something called a Nintendo, but the SMS had some pretty awesome games. In 1988, an RPG called "Phantasy Star" appeared, and lo! The world, it was rocked.
We start off in a town called Camineet on Palma, wherever those places may be. A young man has gone splat in front of what I promise are not Stormtroopers, as that is a different universe entirely.
This is Nero. He's going to be dead very soon. Before he kicks it, he tells his younger sister, Alis, that the king of their star system is evil and corrupt, and to go stop him from filling their world with evil and corruption. Learning from his own mistakes, he tells her to go find an ass-kicker named Odin, in the hopes that two of them will be harder to wipe out than his singular scrawny butt.
And here we have her. The serenely beautiful Alis Landale, who, with her spirit and determination, kicked off an epic series of video games. While the other children were playing with a duo of portly plumbers who jumped on and ate various mushrooms, little Jentastic actually had a decent role model on her television screen. In an age where most women in video games were relegated to the role of the demure healer or bouncing around the battlefield in little more than a string bikini, teenaged Alis got to save the world with some awesome swords and a pink dress that covered everything appropriately.
Okay, now that my little feminist rant is over with, we have some work to do. Namely, Alis has to find her teammates. Some exploration of the town leads to a warehouse with some meseta stashed in it and HOLY CRAP!!!
That's right, ladies and gentlemen. We have first-person dungeons. That are pretty complex and can lead to wandering in circles for hours. Not bad for 1988. Not bad at all.
Though Camineet is a pretty nice place, sweet Alis must eventually spread her wings and flip off the NotStormtroopers at the gates who tell her to stay put unless she wants to be mauled. Since she is mature and classy, she doesn't tell them to go fuck themselves, even though they just killed her brother, and she walks out onto the lush green plains of Palma.
Armed only with her brother's short sword, Alis ventures outside her home to try to find this Odin guy. The townsfolk had shared with her that he's from another town, Scion, so she merrily skips off to find him. But since this is a video game and we need to do stuff other than just walk around, danger lurks everywhere!
Alas, Odin is not in Scion, that fucker. Oh well, there are other things to do. We all know the drill for these types of games: kill things for money and experience, get stronger, buy cooler shit, and then figure out what to do next. After Alis spends some serious cash upgrading her equipment, she pesters a shopkeeper (who must have been the inspiration for the "you must ask me three times!" dude in the Austin Powers movies) and gets a roadpass that allows her to travel to the spaceport. Upon arriving on Motavia, the desert planet, she trades her pot (as in decorative vase, not mind-altering substance) for...
Myau, a talking musk cat, doesn't waste any time and gets right to the point, thank goodness. He knows where Odin is, but that dumb shit went up against Medusa (?!) and was turned to stone. Myau has the antidote, but does NOT have opposable thumbs, so Alis grabs him and goes back to Palma to officially kick off her ass-saving career.
(And yes, Medusa really does appear later on, complete with mentions of Perseus and accurate methods of defeating her. How Greek mythology wound up in a futuristic star system, I'll never know, but hey! It's educational!)
Odin is appropriately thankful and humble and they get the hell out of the slimy cave. The cheap-ass iron equipment just isn't cutting it for them, so they wander around a bit, killing more things for meseta. Eventually, Odin can get a shiny new ceramic sword just like Alis (though she'll use it better) and he can stab things in the eye.
More stuff happens, but as I'm not going to summarize the entire game here, I'll skip the cake and the fucked-up nightmare and get right to the last of our cast of characters.
Noah, the wizard, bitches Alis & Co. out for interrupting him (because he was SO busy living in the middle of a cave in the desert surrounded by spiders), but decides to join them after Alis waves a note from the governor of Motavia in his face. (One can only speculate as to the contents of the note. My interpretation: "Dear Noah: Stop fucking around in that cave and do something useful. And put on some pants while you're at it. Sincerely, The Governor")
Now that the party has been assembled, they need a better way to putter around Algol without the government's spaceships. They spring a scientist from prison (though he needs some convincing to leave his dingy cell...odd) so he can build them their own spaceship and then they go running all over Palma to find his pet robot so the robot can pilot said spaceship. Now it's possible to freely travel to all three planets in the system! Huzzah!
The spaceship helps things out tremendously, but there has to be better ways to cross both land and sea. Luckily, some digging around (sometimes in a pile of trash) gets us a landrover and a hovercraft. Win!
Now, here is what makes this game truly one of the all-time greats, in my not-humble-at-all opinion: there's a whole lot of stuff to accomplish and you can do it in ANY order you want! (The manual even implies that you can beat the game without finding the four Laconian items, but...yeah, I wouldn't try that if I were you.) Do you want to finally seek revenge on Medusa, now that you're fully equipped with a Mirror Shield? Or do you want to go running through a morgue of zombies (ew) for some awesome armor? Maybe you want to go pay Noah's former teacher a visit and beat a better mantle out of him. It's entirely up to you!
The enemies are varied enough that the little amount of grinding necessary doesn't even feel like a chore. The two most expensive items in the game can take some time to buy (but hey, you can sell one for half its original price once you're done with it), but again, it doesn't feel like you're slogging through. And if you're the type to ignore the "Run" choice, if you fight every single enemy you encounter on your way to your various goals, you'll be in pretty good shape by the time you're done collecting all the goodies.
Throughout Alis' adventures, the game does set up a lot for the future games (whether or not it was intentional, I don't know). We're briefly introduced to the native species of Motavia and Dezoris and while it is possible to have conversations with them, it's also possible to slaughter them for money and experience.
It's also interesting to note that for whatever reason, the green reptilian species lives on the ice planet and the blue furry species lives on the desert planet. Algol's got some curious evolutionary history on top of everything else.
Once everything that needs doing has been done, it's time for the final showdown. I've tried hard not to include any spoilers in this post and I'm not going to start now. All I'll say is that the end of the game is quite a challenge, but that just makes it so much more rewarding when you're done.
Okay, so I still can't write short summaries. Whatever, don't judge. But now that we have the basics out of the way, you might be wondering: why is this titled a "non-review"?
That's easy. I love this game so damn hard that I'll never say a bad word about it. I just can't be objective here. There are other games and series that I've loved, but at the risk of sounding overly cheesy, the original Phantasy Star will always have a special place in my heart. (Even though I have a cold, black heart of tar.)
Over 20 years later, everything about it still seems so magical. There are three huge worlds to explore, each so completely different, with vivid colors and pretty pictures and waves crashing on the beach that make you feel immersed in this fantasy (phantasy?) world. There's so much detail, from the sprites, to the portraits/cutscenes, to the different backgrounds depending on where you pull up the menu, it's incredible that the programmers got everything to fit on that one little cartridge.
As a snob with a music degree, my expert opinion is that the music in this game flat-out rocks. Again, it's amazing what they were able to accomplish and the limitations of the time are pushed as far as they can possibly go. From the heroic, inspiring overworld music on Palma, to Dezoris' more mellow, melancholy theme, it all wins in my book. The town music clearly tells you, "You are safe here" and the village music is appropriately quaint and charming. And from the music snob's point of view, the soundtrack really is quite complex, making good use of various time signatures, interesting key/mode changes, and so on.
I admit to having the attention span of a goldfish, and yet, I can (and have) happily replay this game over and over and over and over and over again. Part of it probably has to do with the aforementioned non-linear nature of the game: I don't think I've ever played through exactly the same way twice and it's something I really felt was missing from the other three games in the original series. (While I do enjoy PSIV very much and it probably ranks second on my "replayability" list for the series, I do completely understand the complaints that it's more like an interactive movie than a game.) Maybe because it's one of the games I grew up with (I didn't play the others until high school), but there's just something about it that's comforting in a way. Alis, the unlikely heroine, is going to save the world and nothing's ever going to stop her. She didn't stay at home and cry about everything that's wrong in her life, she went out and got shit done. We could all learn a lesson, I guess.
Oh, and just so we can call this an actual review:
EVERYTHING:
10 boobs. And then some.
We start off in a town called Camineet on Palma, wherever those places may be. A young man has gone splat in front of what I promise are not Stormtroopers, as that is a different universe entirely.
 |
| "Whatever I did, it was a BAD idea." |
 |
| "Love me." |
And here we have her. The serenely beautiful Alis Landale, who, with her spirit and determination, kicked off an epic series of video games. While the other children were playing with a duo of portly plumbers who jumped on and ate various mushrooms, little Jentastic actually had a decent role model on her television screen. In an age where most women in video games were relegated to the role of the demure healer or bouncing around the battlefield in little more than a string bikini, teenaged Alis got to save the world with some awesome swords and a pink dress that covered everything appropriately.
Okay, now that my little feminist rant is over with, we have some work to do. Namely, Alis has to find her teammates. Some exploration of the town leads to a warehouse with some meseta stashed in it and HOLY CRAP!!!
 |
| It's like I'm really there! |
That's right, ladies and gentlemen. We have first-person dungeons. That are pretty complex and can lead to wandering in circles for hours. Not bad for 1988. Not bad at all.
Though Camineet is a pretty nice place, sweet Alis must eventually spread her wings and flip off the NotStormtroopers at the gates who tell her to stay put unless she wants to be mauled. Since she is mature and classy, she doesn't tell them to go fuck themselves, even though they just killed her brother, and she walks out onto the lush green plains of Palma.
 |
| It's dangerous beyond the hole in the wall. |
Armed only with her brother's short sword, Alis ventures outside her home to try to find this Odin guy. The townsfolk had shared with her that he's from another town, Scion, so she merrily skips off to find him. But since this is a video game and we need to do stuff other than just walk around, danger lurks everywhere!
 |
| "Hello, Alis. My hit point/meseta ratio is quite good for this early stage of the game and you will want to kill an awful lot of me." |
Alas, Odin is not in Scion, that fucker. Oh well, there are other things to do. We all know the drill for these types of games: kill things for money and experience, get stronger, buy cooler shit, and then figure out what to do next. After Alis spends some serious cash upgrading her equipment, she pesters a shopkeeper (who must have been the inspiration for the "you must ask me three times!" dude in the Austin Powers movies) and gets a roadpass that allows her to travel to the spaceport. Upon arriving on Motavia, the desert planet, she trades her pot (as in decorative vase, not mind-altering substance) for...
 |
| KITTY!!!! |
Myau, a talking musk cat, doesn't waste any time and gets right to the point, thank goodness. He knows where Odin is, but that dumb shit went up against Medusa (?!) and was turned to stone. Myau has the antidote, but does NOT have opposable thumbs, so Alis grabs him and goes back to Palma to officially kick off her ass-saving career.
(And yes, Medusa really does appear later on, complete with mentions of Perseus and accurate methods of defeating her. How Greek mythology wound up in a futuristic star system, I'll never know, but hey! It's educational!)
 |
| "I went up against a giant powerful gorgon with little more than a cheap axe, my chisled good looks, and a companion who can't open a damn bottle. Derp." |
Odin is appropriately thankful and humble and they get the hell out of the slimy cave. The cheap-ass iron equipment just isn't cutting it for them, so they wander around a bit, killing more things for meseta. Eventually, Odin can get a shiny new ceramic sword just like Alis (though she'll use it better) and he can stab things in the eye.
 |
| Eyes with wings, appropriately called Wing Eyes. Ew. Gross. |
More stuff happens, but as I'm not going to summarize the entire game here, I'll skip the cake and the fucked-up nightmare and get right to the last of our cast of characters.
 |
| "What's under these robes? I'll never tell..." |
Now that the party has been assembled, they need a better way to putter around Algol without the government's spaceships. They spring a scientist from prison (though he needs some convincing to leave his dingy cell...odd) so he can build them their own spaceship and then they go running all over Palma to find his pet robot so the robot can pilot said spaceship. Now it's possible to freely travel to all three planets in the system! Huzzah!
 |
| On second thought, parts of Dezoris look really creepy. Maybe we should have stayed home. |
The spaceship helps things out tremendously, but there has to be better ways to cross both land and sea. Luckily, some digging around (sometimes in a pile of trash) gets us a landrover and a hovercraft. Win!
 |
| The sand lions in the desert will eat your fucking faces if you try to walk over them. Show them who's in charge by flattening them with your sweet ride. |
The enemies are varied enough that the little amount of grinding necessary doesn't even feel like a chore. The two most expensive items in the game can take some time to buy (but hey, you can sell one for half its original price once you're done with it), but again, it doesn't feel like you're slogging through. And if you're the type to ignore the "Run" choice, if you fight every single enemy you encounter on your way to your various goals, you'll be in pretty good shape by the time you're done collecting all the goodies.
 |
| He'll never admit to it, but Odin definitely crapped his pants the first time he saw this guy. |
 |
| "In two thousand years, I will entertain you with terribly corny jokes and we shall be friends. But for now, get off my icy lawn before I shoot you in the head." |
 |
| "My heavy clothing keeps the sand out of my fur. But I'm not going to lie, I'm sweating to death underneath." |
 |
| It's a tower. On top of a hill. Surrounded by mountains and lava (not pictured). Clearly, this is going to be the setting for all sorts of epic badassery. |
Okay, so I still can't write short summaries. Whatever, don't judge. But now that we have the basics out of the way, you might be wondering: why is this titled a "non-review"?
That's easy. I love this game so damn hard that I'll never say a bad word about it. I just can't be objective here. There are other games and series that I've loved, but at the risk of sounding overly cheesy, the original Phantasy Star will always have a special place in my heart. (Even though I have a cold, black heart of tar.)
Over 20 years later, everything about it still seems so magical. There are three huge worlds to explore, each so completely different, with vivid colors and pretty pictures and waves crashing on the beach that make you feel immersed in this fantasy (phantasy?) world. There's so much detail, from the sprites, to the portraits/cutscenes, to the different backgrounds depending on where you pull up the menu, it's incredible that the programmers got everything to fit on that one little cartridge.
As a snob with a music degree, my expert opinion is that the music in this game flat-out rocks. Again, it's amazing what they were able to accomplish and the limitations of the time are pushed as far as they can possibly go. From the heroic, inspiring overworld music on Palma, to Dezoris' more mellow, melancholy theme, it all wins in my book. The town music clearly tells you, "You are safe here" and the village music is appropriately quaint and charming. And from the music snob's point of view, the soundtrack really is quite complex, making good use of various time signatures, interesting key/mode changes, and so on.
I admit to having the attention span of a goldfish, and yet, I can (and have) happily replay this game over and over and over and over and over again. Part of it probably has to do with the aforementioned non-linear nature of the game: I don't think I've ever played through exactly the same way twice and it's something I really felt was missing from the other three games in the original series. (While I do enjoy PSIV very much and it probably ranks second on my "replayability" list for the series, I do completely understand the complaints that it's more like an interactive movie than a game.) Maybe because it's one of the games I grew up with (I didn't play the others until high school), but there's just something about it that's comforting in a way. Alis, the unlikely heroine, is going to save the world and nothing's ever going to stop her. She didn't stay at home and cry about everything that's wrong in her life, she went out and got shit done. We could all learn a lesson, I guess.
Oh, and just so we can call this an actual review:
EVERYTHING:
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
"Honey, I'm a Pornographer"
So in my previous post I mentioned that I wrote a book. I did. It's not an epic novel of doom, more like a short novel/novella. The classy title for my chosen genre is "erotic literature".
I wrote a porn. And it's going to be published. We all have our talents, I suppose.
I wrote my pornstory, did my research, found publishers, put together my submission packets, was accepted by one, e-met my editor, and signed a contract. (Now we're editing. Hooray!) Then it was time for the fun part - telling people!
My e-friends knew I was writing a pornstory (and helped me out/provided emotional support at times), so naturally, I shared my news with them first. Out of the people I know in *real life*, I decided on going to one of my best friends (Tojo) first, as he's one of the few *real* people I've discussed my writing with, and back in the summer, we'd had a conversation about what words are sexy and what words are not. Besides, I realized that I hadn't spoken to him since July 31st, and I felt a little guilty for not checking to make sure he was still alive. (He does do some stupid crazy shit sometimes.) Not too guilty, though, as the phone works both ways and I have a cell phone and he doesn't, so as far as I'm concerned, we're both assholes for forgetting to check in every now and then.
No one picked up the phone at Tojo's my first try (he still lives in his mom's basement, the bum), so I tried again in an hour. Success! He's not lying dead in a ditch somewhere! I feel like less of an asshole now.
We shot the shit for a while before I chose to drop the pornbombshell on him. "You're the first person I've told!" I said to him. He was "tickled" (his word, not mine) and congratulated me on my successful porning and all that. We chatted about that for a while and then he asked THE question: "What does Husband think of this?"
"I, uh, haven't told him yet," I answered.
"What?"
"I figured I'd wait until right before it was published, in case something goes wrong. I told you that you were the first person I told!"
"When you said that, I thought you meant I was the first person outside your marriage."
"Yeah...no."
"Jen, I think you really need to tell him. I mean, you already signed a contract and everything."
Tojo did have a point. For the record, it's not like I was intentionally hiding my porning from him; I just sort of wanted to make sure it was a done deal before I had to have that conversation. I mean, how many people say they're going to do something and then nothing ever gets done? And what if I told him I'd written a (porn)book and it sucked and no one wanted to publish the contents of my filthy, filthy mind? I'd rather share triumphs than failures.
I waited until Friday evening in the hopes that he would be relaxed and not stressed about work or anything. I served some nice homemade minestrone for dinner and asked if he had a good day. He answered in the affirmative, so I told him that I needed to discuss something with him.
"I found another way to bring in a little extra money."
"You want us to make a sex tape?"
"No. But actually, it's almost along those lines. You know how I told you I write for my gaming websites and stuff? A few people have been writing original stories and trying to get them published and things like that, and I thought I'd give it a try, and...um...I wrote a book."
His reaction:
"And I signed a contract, I start working with an editor soon."
"I don't expect you to read it, it's really not your style."
(And here is where I admit I totally pussied out) "It's a romance. Sort of. But it takes place in the future. In outer space."
"...Okay, let's approach this from a different angle. You know those things made out of paper on that shelf over there? That have words on them and you sometimes look at them when you have a vacation from work? Those are called 'books'. They don't just appear out of nowhere. People have to write them."
"...How much did this cost you?"
(omigod, words!) "Nothing, I'm not an idiot."
"Good. <pause> So...is it, like, a big deal? To get a book published?"
"A lot of people think so, yes. If it were easy, everyone would do it."
"Okay."
(time to drop the other shoe, so to speak) "Since it's a romance, there's, um, some sex in it."
"Okay."
"Alright, a lot of sex."
"Alien sex?"
"No. There are aliens, but no one has sex with them."
"Oh, okay."
"By the way, because there's all this sex in there, I haven't decided if I'm going to tell my mother yet. And even though I know you tell your mother everything, please don't tell her this. Especially since she freaked out the other day at that bridal shower at work when all of her coworkers got the bride a box of stuff from the adult store."
"Okay. <pause> Is there anal sex in it?"
"No, I don't write about anal sex."
"Fellatio?"
*thinks* "Yeah, a little. Cunnilingus too."
"Any other kinds of sex?"
"Well...there's a threesome."
"Okay."
"After I'm done editing this one, I'm going to write another one. I have some more ideas. Do you want to hear about them?"
"I guess so."
"[the beginning of the story of what inspired my next work]"
"Wait...this doesn't have anything to do with me?"
"No."
"Then I don't want to hear it."
"Not everything has to do with you, you know."
"You should make your next Prince Charming play the ukulele, like me."
"No, I've already decided to make him an artist."
"He should play the ukulele."
"I don't WANT him to play the ukulele."
"But you should base him off of me. So everyone knows how much you love me."
*thinks quickly* "Our love story is so great, I don't need to fictionalize it or romanticize it. I wouldn't do it justice."
"Uh-huh." He finished his soup. "So do you want to go into the bedroom and act out some of the scenes from your book?"
"Sure. Should I go out and find another guy for our third?"
"I didn't mean that scene."
"Oh well. I have homework to do, anyway."
And that was that. Honestly, it went better than I thought. I didn't think at all that he'd be angry or anything, but I was worried that he'd be a little weirded out. But with him being bumped down to part-time at work and me back in school, I guess he really can't argue about the tiny bit of extra cash that may come in from this endeavor. And at least I'm just a pornographer and not a porn star. That conversation would have gone much less smoothly.
I wrote a porn. And it's going to be published. We all have our talents, I suppose.
I wrote my pornstory, did my research, found publishers, put together my submission packets, was accepted by one, e-met my editor, and signed a contract. (Now we're editing. Hooray!) Then it was time for the fun part - telling people!
My e-friends knew I was writing a pornstory (and helped me out/provided emotional support at times), so naturally, I shared my news with them first. Out of the people I know in *real life*, I decided on going to one of my best friends (Tojo) first, as he's one of the few *real* people I've discussed my writing with, and back in the summer, we'd had a conversation about what words are sexy and what words are not. Besides, I realized that I hadn't spoken to him since July 31st, and I felt a little guilty for not checking to make sure he was still alive. (He does do some stupid crazy shit sometimes.) Not too guilty, though, as the phone works both ways and I have a cell phone and he doesn't, so as far as I'm concerned, we're both assholes for forgetting to check in every now and then.
No one picked up the phone at Tojo's my first try (he still lives in his mom's basement, the bum), so I tried again in an hour. Success! He's not lying dead in a ditch somewhere! I feel like less of an asshole now.
We shot the shit for a while before I chose to drop the pornbombshell on him. "You're the first person I've told!" I said to him. He was "tickled" (his word, not mine) and congratulated me on my successful porning and all that. We chatted about that for a while and then he asked THE question: "What does Husband think of this?"
"I, uh, haven't told him yet," I answered.
"What?"
"I figured I'd wait until right before it was published, in case something goes wrong. I told you that you were the first person I told!"
"When you said that, I thought you meant I was the first person outside your marriage."
"Yeah...no."
"Jen, I think you really need to tell him. I mean, you already signed a contract and everything."
Tojo did have a point. For the record, it's not like I was intentionally hiding my porning from him; I just sort of wanted to make sure it was a done deal before I had to have that conversation. I mean, how many people say they're going to do something and then nothing ever gets done? And what if I told him I'd written a (porn)book and it sucked and no one wanted to publish the contents of my filthy, filthy mind? I'd rather share triumphs than failures.
I waited until Friday evening in the hopes that he would be relaxed and not stressed about work or anything. I served some nice homemade minestrone for dinner and asked if he had a good day. He answered in the affirmative, so I told him that I needed to discuss something with him.
"I found another way to bring in a little extra money."
"You want us to make a sex tape?"
"No. But actually, it's almost along those lines. You know how I told you I write for my gaming websites and stuff? A few people have been writing original stories and trying to get them published and things like that, and I thought I'd give it a try, and...um...I wrote a book."
His reaction:
"And I signed a contract, I start working with an editor soon."
"I don't expect you to read it, it's really not your style."
(And here is where I admit I totally pussied out) "It's a romance. Sort of. But it takes place in the future. In outer space."
"...Okay, let's approach this from a different angle. You know those things made out of paper on that shelf over there? That have words on them and you sometimes look at them when you have a vacation from work? Those are called 'books'. They don't just appear out of nowhere. People have to write them."
"...How much did this cost you?"
(omigod, words!) "Nothing, I'm not an idiot."
"Good. <pause> So...is it, like, a big deal? To get a book published?"
"A lot of people think so, yes. If it were easy, everyone would do it."
"Okay."
(time to drop the other shoe, so to speak) "Since it's a romance, there's, um, some sex in it."
"Okay."
"Alright, a lot of sex."
"Alien sex?"
"No. There are aliens, but no one has sex with them."
"Oh, okay."
"By the way, because there's all this sex in there, I haven't decided if I'm going to tell my mother yet. And even though I know you tell your mother everything, please don't tell her this. Especially since she freaked out the other day at that bridal shower at work when all of her coworkers got the bride a box of stuff from the adult store."
"Okay. <pause> Is there anal sex in it?"
"No, I don't write about anal sex."
"Fellatio?"
*thinks* "Yeah, a little. Cunnilingus too."
"Any other kinds of sex?"
"Well...there's a threesome."
"Okay."
"After I'm done editing this one, I'm going to write another one. I have some more ideas. Do you want to hear about them?"
"I guess so."
"[the beginning of the story of what inspired my next work]"
"Wait...this doesn't have anything to do with me?"
"No."
"Then I don't want to hear it."
"Not everything has to do with you, you know."
"You should make your next Prince Charming play the ukulele, like me."
"No, I've already decided to make him an artist."
"He should play the ukulele."
"I don't WANT him to play the ukulele."
"But you should base him off of me. So everyone knows how much you love me."
*thinks quickly* "Our love story is so great, I don't need to fictionalize it or romanticize it. I wouldn't do it justice."
"Uh-huh." He finished his soup. "So do you want to go into the bedroom and act out some of the scenes from your book?"
"Sure. Should I go out and find another guy for our third?"
"I didn't mean that scene."
"Oh well. I have homework to do, anyway."
And that was that. Honestly, it went better than I thought. I didn't think at all that he'd be angry or anything, but I was worried that he'd be a little weirded out. But with him being bumped down to part-time at work and me back in school, I guess he really can't argue about the tiny bit of extra cash that may come in from this endeavor. And at least I'm just a pornographer and not a porn star. That conversation would have gone much less smoothly.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Retro game review: Valis III
This is a game I have both fond memories and a sort of silly story with.
Valis III is a game my brothers and I first found in a Blockbuster WAY BACK in 1994. My dad took us there to rent movies, but we didn't know they had games too.
So, among all of the Nintendo stuff, there was a Genesis section. Really? Like... there were other people that had a Genesis? We saw the games and there were several that appealed to us, but we didn't reach an agreement. My dad ALWAYS tried to have us reach an agreement, which was actually what I think caused a split between us.
Anyhow, from all of the games we saw, Valis III had the shittiest box art. I can't even remember what the box art looked like, but it was SHIT. Horrible, horrible shit.
I insisted to my brothers to rent it, but they weren't budging. So, I came with the idea to have them support my rent of Valis III, in exchange of letting them rent whatever they wanted two times in a row. Basically, we didn't share the same interests. They wanted some game with two fuckers. Oh, I remember the name now. Two Crude Dudes. That game was SHIT. Really, it sucked ass like nobody's business. Still, this is Valis III time, so back to it I go.
We rented the game instead of a movie and there we went back home. My dad wasn't so gung-ho about renting games. We already had games at home. Why rent more? Well, jeez... maybe because the games were different? DUH!? But try explaining that to a father that the only thing he watches on TV are documentaries, movies and occassionally a movie.
My brothers were kind of dissatisfied. They went for the box art for reference, but I went for the text behind. I was the only one with a marginal understanding of the English language, after all. Also, the game photos of games back in the 16 bit era sucked. You needed to have big pictures and the low resolution and quality of those pictures, mixed with the shitty graphic design of the box, only made things way worse. Oh, but they had to have a black background and a lighter grid. Sega's style sucked donkey balls. It also sucked donkey dick as well.
SO... I stuck the cartridge on the genesis and then the opening story began playing. I got to see the blue faced big bad King Glames (who I also assume had big blue balls in a healthy way) talking to a pretty looking fortune teller named Leigh. Babbling about the Dark World going pretty much to shit and that they needed to go somewhere else. Huh... Maybe King Big Blue Balls wasn't so bad after all...
After that introduction to give me motivation, then got treated to a backstory with pretty damn good artwork (even better, considering the limitations of the hardware's resolution) that told me the story of the first two games. After all, when Valis III was released in 1991, there were no other Valis games on the platform (a shitty version of Valis I got released later and so did an SD rendition of Valis II). Then I got to know a bit more of the protagonist, Yuko Aso. Basically, she was a common school girl that was summoned by the queen of Dreamland to fight for her people. She ended up facing her own friend from school, Reiko Kirishima in a duel, aaaaand she gutted her. Really. Dead, dead, dead. Afterwards, she faced the big bad, King Rogles and also gutted him. This was in the first Valis alone.
Years later, having obtained the first two games, I got to know that Reiko was being brainwashed and turned from a lonely girl into a badass murdering machine with a skimpy outfit (typical of 80s anime) for Rogles.
In the second, another king named Megas, went to Dreamland and started ripping people apart, concentrating on killing the remains of Rogles' army. Still, this guy was more effective, attacking Queen Valia's castle and ripping her a new belly button. WOW. Then, Princess Valna, as sole heir to the throne, well, was kind of forced to take over as the new queen... But that's not all! Following all of the typical tropes, it was revealed by Valia's aide/secretary/freaky-lady-with-pasty-white-face, that Yuko herself was... DUN DUN DUUUUUUN! Valna's twin sister... Really? Either Yuko didn't know the princess and NOBODY TOLD HER, or she never
saw her own face on the mirror. I weep for her personal hygiene...
Anyway, she kicked Megas' anus into oblivion and then... Valis III time. Because no (mildly) successful series is complete without it being a trilogy. Well, there's Valis IV, but that's more like its own adventure, despite being in the same universe as the others and some of the previous characters appearing. Too bad there were no more made...
After the backstory that took quite some time, a mini cinema with excellent animation for a Genesis game showing the three protagonists of this game (because Yuko is no longer alone), I got treated to the title screen with a great music and badass logo with gold, shiny AND animated effects. WOW.
Then, after pressing start, I got treated to a short cutscene when a girl with long ears AND a horn on her forehead (those impractical Japanese character designers...) pretty much watches Yuko sleep... YES! She's watching her sleep and muttering things to herself! The guy from Twilight was beaten in his hobbies by more than a decade in time... By a girl with a horn on her forehead... THAT FOREHEAD!!
Anyway, I pretty much beat the game. I returned it and NEVER GOT TO PLAY IT AGAIN... In part because my brothers didn't want to go to THAT blockbuster because it was too far, and because when I went there with my dad one last time, the game was not there anymore... FUCK!
Years passed, my childhood and adolescence ended and then I was an adult... That game ALWAYS remained in the back of my memories. I had a blast playing it. I'll be honest. The game controls aren't very precise and the heroines aren't very quick. Still, the game sports THREE different characters to play with and also sub-weapons like good old Castlevania. But that is not where it ends. Each character has her own version of said sub-weapons. There's variety right there. Also, the music is very well composed, varied and even catchy, especially in some stages, where I ended up falling into pits for concentrating on the music. I loved those tunes that much.
I walked through the stands that usually have games and looked them over. My intention was to buy whatever Super Nintendo game I could find. I found Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles IV: Turtles In Time. A game I loved when I was a kid. It was kind of pricy for an old game, but I decided to make an exception. I went to a different stand and they only had Playstation 2 games for outrageous prices. Especially considering they were used. I moved on and kept walking. Minutes later, I found a stand I rarely saw open and decided to take a look. I saw some Genesis games and decided to browse. Splatterhouse, Decap Attack and some other games that I didn't really care about along with LOTS of sports games. Then, a blue label on a black cartridge. I read it and then I had a rush of adrenalin. Like the one you get when you find something you've looked for and get all happy and stuff.
THEN I remembered I was dealing with a bitch that would first observe my reaction and then raise the price.
My course of action was to shut the fuck up and go to the next cartridge. Some Madden game with NFL football. "How much for this one?" I asked her. I got a high price. Apparently, sports games sold for higher... Or she saw my response time was shorter when looking at that game. I lean towards the latter. "How much are the non sports games?" I tried to feign lack of interest. Like that of a window shopper. The price was around half. HALF. "Okay, I'll take this one." I pulled out Valis III quickly, revealing to her I had just dicked her with a ruse, paid for my game and got the fuck out of there.
That game I got two great games, but the Super Nintendo was not getting any attention that evening. No, sir. My Genesis got ALL of my time. Not the Playstation 2, not the Playstation 1. My Dreamcast was down for the count, since I hadn't gotten the parts to repair it then. My Genesis got all of those hours. After I got off the bus, I ran to my house, got in and went straight to my room. Connected the Genesis that had seen little use and stuck Valis III in the slot. The game worked perfectly. The music was still awesome and so were the graphics. The gameplay was just like I remembered and even better... That time, I had no obligation to return it to a far away Blockbuster. The game was finally mine.
NOW... After that most likely wall of text, let's tear at the game like I should have done from the beginning, shall we?
Valis III is a very, very, VERY straightforward game. With the D-Pad, you move to the left, right and crouch with down. Upon pressing up, the playable character looks up. Why? Other than this cosmetic thing, up seems to have no other functions... or does it? The answer is a resounding YES!
Up + Attack button allows the currently selected character to use a magic attack. These attacks can be one of many, depending on the item the heroines have in their possession. It can be flaming, flying knives that hover above the player's head and home in to the first enemy that appears on screen, a flash that damages every enemy onscreen or even a projectile that freezes the enemy it touches. As I mentioned, every heroine has a different similar version. Some are more useful than others for some situations. The other function Up serves, is to make jumps a little bit higher. There are some ledges and items that can't be reached with a normal jump, so those higher jumps come in handy.
Now, time for the boobs... or in more common terms, what I think is a good number to stick to a particular aspect of the game. Please, take this with not a grain of salt, but a spoonful of it. These are just my own impressions, and they may not be the same for you.
First up: The gameplay.
I talked about differences between the three heroines. They are quite different, all right. Yuko, being the central character is the balanced one in terms of speed of attacks. As you pick power ups, her basic attack range increases, while it becomes necessary to wait a little longer for the full range of her current level to be available. Still, the basic sword slash is always at your disposal. Thankfully, there is no moment of being defenseless. The reach of the wave that is "fired" from her sword is what changes. Her magic attacks are useful and have a decent coverage.
Cham, the girl with the horn on her forehead (dat horn) is a different case altogether. Her magic, while not crappy, has less coverage. When Yuko has a flash attack that pretty much kills everything onscreen, she fires five little projectiles. Left, right, up and up-left, up-right. Her attacks are the fastest, but her range never gets longer. She also uses a whip, which feels very much like the classic Castlevania games. Valna, the princess of Dreamland and Yuko's doppelganger that doesn't try to kill her, has the best magic attacks. They do plenty of damage and have the best screen coverage. BUT... since she's a mage, she has the shittiest basic attacks... SLOW and relatively short ranged. On the good side, while she attacks forward, she also fires a small projectile diagonally forward that can get an incoming enemy. Sweet, huh? She also dresses in robes... what the hell... To fight? In robes? Only those crazy magicians do that...
During the game, it is possible to change characters, so some extra exploration of gameplay possibilities is available that invites to more than a single playthrough, so those looking for replay value have that possibility in this game. No need to bitch and whine like those little pussies that I bet my ass in prison, knowing I will keep it virgin forever, that aren't above the mark of 16 solar rotations.
The bosses are all different, which is cool. The first boss attacks with a spiked flail that he throws forward and retrieves with a chain without ever touching the ground (that's videogame magic for you, fuckers!) or projectiles that cover a large portion of the screen, that you can defend against by attacking them.
The second boss is a dude that jumps into the water and comes back transformed in a dragon that... fires bubbles at you... Yes... bubbles. A bubble throwing dragon. What does it have in its stomach? Soap? Then there's the third boss, which uses fire and looks really cool as it hovers and shows his badass armor and more.
I give the gameplay: EIGHT boobs.
Now: Stage design.
The stages are varied and there are lots of pits to fall into (oh, joy!). They can be the typical go right, right, right, meet the boss of the stage and then kill him type of stage, or the climbing stage. Well, as far as climbing goes in an old school platformer anyway. There's even the almost seemingly obligatory ice stage with the slippery floors. Really, this is the most difficult stage in the whole game. One wrong move and it's a one way ticket out of the screen, via pit. Yes, the bane of platformers just got married... with slippery ice.
I give stage design: NINE boobs.
Coming up: Music.
The music is especially noteworthy. It's typically synthesized music (what else can one expect from the 16 bits era?). Still, it's all varied. The tracks aren't similar to each other and even have varying styles. The result of different composers, one of which, a lady named Michiko Naruke, has composed music for more games, namely the Wild Arms series for the Playstation consoles.
I give the music: TEN boobs. Why? Because I love it. Plain and simple. There is nothing more subjective than music appreciation... Well, maybe religion and law, but we're not going into an argument here, right? RIGHT?
And then the images: Graphics.
Graphics are a tad above average for games on the Genesis, with sharp graphics and easy to recognize blobs of pixels. The enemies don't mix with the background, making them disappear and take you by surprise, which is a good thing. There is only one exception, though. In the second stage, there is an enemy that is purposefully made transparent, with only the outline of its body visible. Still, if you pay a minimum of attention to movement on the screen, you can see it jumping above your head and landing behind you, with the intention of hitting you. The character animation is also very good. Visible especially in the human characters. Running animations are very, very nice. There are a few cinema displays that make use of anime style illustrations. They are sparse, but very, very well done. The character design is also very good, which makes it look even better.
Thankfully, instead of muscle-bound meatbags, we get girls in unreal situations like saving not one, but TWO worlds by themselves... YES! Nothing is more realistic than being a three-women army... with skimpy clothing... and using magic... and the main heroine wielding a magic sword... against an enemy that easily measures more than five meters (16.4 feet)... maybe more... and is the KING of the DARK WORLD. Fuckin' A, huh?
I give graphics: EIGHT POINT FIVE boobs.
And finally: The story.
This is pretty much a typical story. Common tropes here and there. For the third game, we get the originally reluctant heroine, now transformed into a responsible and determined young warrior (I cringe at the sound of those two words together) that has a goal. Saving the day. She is joined by a new friend (who has that HORN in the middle of her damn forehead) and her wimpy, but magically capable TWIN sister that she didn't know was her sister until the last game... Standing before them is a collection of enemies AND bosses that all fail after facing them in turns... In the end, the big, bad king dies... but as his dying wish, he asks the victors to take his people and adopt them as their compatriots... Really... I shit you not... Couldn't it have been easier and without bloodshed to ask the pertinent authorities to be taken in? YES! But then there would be no DRAMA! And we are whores for DRAMA!
As a result, King Glames goes on a conquest campaign, against the women who would have taken them all in in a heartbeat... GENIUS.
I give the story: SIX boobs for being so damn cliche. Still, I think I'll throw an extra boob only because the main characters not only receive the inhabitants of the dark world and make a country for them, the main heroine goes to return her magical sword and that of the big-not-so-bad-after-all and loses her status as a human... She becomes a goddes... A goddes that guards the Valis and Leethus swords... forever...
Well, until the next game at least...
Result: SEVEN BOOBS!
Now, because I'm a dick that hates IGN and their shitty reviews with biased scores, I will make an average of my own marks!
So...
(8.0 + 9.0 + 10.0 + 8.5 + 7.0) / 5 = 8.5
Valis III gets a total of EIGHT POINT FIVE boobs!
SUCK A DEAD DONKEY'S DICK, IGN! YOU FUCKING SUCK, YOU MATHEMATICALLY INEPT FUCKS!! A FUCKING AVERAGE IS AS EASY AS ADDING ALL THE GRADES AND THEN DIVIDING THE RESULT BETWEEN THE NUMBER OF GRADES! YOU SUCK ASS!! I HOPE YOU CATCH A FLU AND FEEL LIKE SHIT, YOU IMBECILIC CUNTS THAT GET BRIBED BY GAME COMPANIES TO GIVE THEIR SHITTY GAMES GOOD SCORES!
FUCK YOU!!! FUCK YOU ALL!!! AND FUCK YOUR PETS TOO!!!
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