As the clock drudges forward I realize my Emerald Nuts must be lacking because I'm passing out at the dash. So I think to myself, "Hey let's see if OADS has any new blog entries, boy that guy can be entertaining!" Not only did i find an entertaining entry, I found Slacker Conservative to be at the focus point. At first, I was in blissful shock. Then, as I began to really take in the splendor that is this Great White Shark of blogs, I noticed something...
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| The guide says this is the best spot to feed from |
Allow me the pleasure of filtering your spacious tank OADS:
An Open Letter to Weapon Mods
Dear Lamprey,
Jealousy? Bitterness? Attention? Any of these would be understandable and believable reasons for the egregious actions committed by the staff at Weapon Mods. Recently, a writer from your staff took a break from his scarves, iPod, and strategic application of "The book was better" to any modernized form of media he could lay his eyes upon to piggyback a Pulitzer caliber creation from the soul of OADS. I could spend minutes pretending to care about a lack of creativity in it's writing so apparent that even Uwe Bol says "pass." More importantly is the subject matter at hand though, which leads us to the core of our response.
"Go Fuck Yourselves" - This from the guy that spent a week trying to re-align the planets to perfectly balance a series of intricate mirrors to reflect beams of the sun's energy onto sleeping caterpillars to clear a path for his beloved Mario? Pfft, "beloved Mario" of course to a man that didn't even meet mario until later in life. A child that scoffed at Mario and said "No thank you, I'm busy shooting the same nondescript tower ad nauseum on Space Harrier!" Now, past his prime, he slithers up to the warm bosom of Mario, hoping to suckle from the teet of nostalgia only to find it dry and bitter.
We know you are false.
Since you had no past with Mario, I suppose no one can fault you for not knowing the controls...I mean it's not like there was a magical toadstool at the beginning of the level telling you that you need to use your Slam (with giant McDonalds Employee style pictures of the button to trigger "Slam") attack to defeat them. No, not you, you weren't going to fall for that obvious trap! You have have avoided humiliation at the hands of "A," but at least I didn't try to sell someone on the masterpiece and genius and originality of the door puzzle that requires use of the official Mario Abacus and a Nautical map before having someone else figure it out for me by reading a placard on the wall that says "PRESS A BUTTON TO GO THROUGH THIS DOOR THAT IS IN FRONT OF YOU RIGHT NOW"
"Go Fuck Yourselves" - This from the guy that spent a week trying to re-align the planets to perfectly balance a series of intricate mirrors to reflect beams of the sun's energy onto sleeping caterpillars to clear a path for his beloved Mario? Pfft, "beloved Mario" of course to a man that didn't even meet mario until later in life. A child that scoffed at Mario and said "No thank you, I'm busy shooting the same nondescript tower ad nauseum on Space Harrier!" Now, past his prime, he slithers up to the warm bosom of Mario, hoping to suckle from the teet of nostalgia only to find it dry and bitter.
We know you are false.
Since you had no past with Mario, I suppose no one can fault you for not knowing the controls...I mean it's not like there was a magical toadstool at the beginning of the level telling you that you need to use your Slam (with giant McDonalds Employee style pictures of the button to trigger "Slam") attack to defeat them. No, not you, you weren't going to fall for that obvious trap! You have have avoided humiliation at the hands of "A," but at least I didn't try to sell someone on the masterpiece and genius and originality of the door puzzle that requires use of the official Mario Abacus and a Nautical map before having someone else figure it out for me by reading a placard on the wall that says "PRESS A BUTTON TO GO THROUGH THIS DOOR THAT IS IN FRONT OF YOU RIGHT NOW"
I hope the future offerings of Weapon Mods are prepared with more professional acumen and less geared towards reminding Michael Jordan about that time he missed a Free Throw in 8th grade.
Fuck yourself,
-SC
