Gamer Love Letter

Baby, you know I love you. You also know how much I love video games. Sure, we play the odd console game now and then, but I know sometimes you think I put plug and play over…well, you get the idea. So to let you know how I truly feel about you, I’ve written you a love letter. It’s written in the blood of all the Covenant/Helghast/minions of Olympus that stood in my way to you.

1. I will always pause the game when you want to talk…about something besides about how incredible I am at dispatching Nazi zombies with impunity.

2. You can use my gamertag…just please use your own on Halo 3, Modern Warfare 2, NCAA ’11, or any other game my buddy Keith is particularly good at. Long story short, he caught me in a lie before I met you.

3. I promise I will never let you win in Mario Kart Wii.

4. When playing Co-op, you get first choice of the power-ups…but let me have the rocket launcher. It just takes a more delicate touch and there’s, like, no ammo for it on this map.

more after the jump!

Fat People. Skinny Jeans. Death Penalty.

An appeal to reason

First indication that tights are not for you.

I recently got off a red eye flight to my beloved Commonwealth of Massachusetts and, bleary eyed and bewildered like Kiefer Sutherland, sucker punched my way to baggage claim. I’m on about forty minutes of sleep. I smell like a bad decision. A guy walked by me and threw some change at my feet, saying, “Good luck out there, buddy.” Yet for all my obvious failings, I was not the most retch-inducing individual waiting for his matching Spider-Man luggage. No, friends, lovers, and thieves, it was the Fat Children of Fat Family wearing skinny jeans. Dear Logan airport, I apologize for the vomit.

Someone explain this to me, PLEASE. I know we humans have an amazing gift for self-deception (see all my “Things I Can’t Take Back” posts) but how on God’s green Earth does a hefty guy or girl put on those Fall-Out Boy leggings and think, “I’m really bringing it today?”

Look, I’m happy that you lost fifty pounds and just got the lap band, but you’ve still got rolls of cottage cheese flesh that have made the great escape past your clothes. All I see is peachy dough muffin-topping your waistband, HOW DO YOU NOT SEE THIS? You look like an upside down bowling pin! How are you even standing up?!?

Do you know who looks good in skinny jeans? Wait for it. Say it with me…SKINNY PEOPLE! The price of admission is RIGHT THERE ON THE NAME! I can only imagine the actual reason you’re wearing those thigh-huggers is you tried them on somewhere and now you cannot remove them no matter how hard you try. Insert joke about Jersey here, and read my brilliant solution after the jump.

Han Solo to Lando: “Not a scratch, you said!”

Another entry from “Letters From Dagobah.”

In happier times.

Hey Lando,

Sorry I haven’t had a chance to see you in person. Things got a little bit nuts right after the battle and the Ewoks insisted on throwing a little BBQ. One drink turned into about seven or thirteen, and then her royal highness-of-no-existing-planet starts giving me the business, blah blah blah…let’s just say I’m not so scruffy-lookin’ no more.

(I’m saying I hit it.)

Pay up, Antilles!