In the very first game of LoL I ever played, one of my teammates was making fun of another for the game they were playing before it...in which this dude bought 6 pairs of boots.
Also, Swain is free this weekend. Curses! And I was just starting to get good with him. Now everyone will like Swain.
I will always have Warwick though
Well, Swain is getting some rather large buffs if I recall correctly. So if you were good with him before expect to do ever better now!
I'm playing it now, as a dwarven noble, I'm attempting to be a nice dwarf that just happens to consider kicking down doors a valid way to gain entrance. I'm a bit short-tempered hurr hurr.
t Sander: I was expecting more polish. The same "do you need a ladder? ... to get off my back" line a kazillion times, some of the glitches, no way to reset your character without loading an add-on and the mechanical way in which approval rating is increased get old quick. I'm also less than pleased with the combat, I'm scrolled out to max distance all the time and still have to pan around a lot to find where the archers are hiding behind this time.
Snipers in MNC are busted. A class that has an instant death attack at any range, a class that can throw down multiple traps that root when they detonate AND after they detonate, a class that can can control space and do damage with a flak grenade, a class that can still do good damage up close, a class that can kill you instantly with a grapple at point blank, a class that can kill you without even hitting you with their shot at all and around corners, and a class that builds juice super easily.
A certain set of mans is free each week and rotates. To permanently unlock a champ you can either spend $$ or points that you earn via just playing the game, win or lose.
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syndalisGetting ClassyOn the WallRegistered User, Loves Apple Productsregular
Snipers in MNC are busted. A class that has an instant death attack at any range, a class that can throw down multiple traps that root when they detonate AND after they detonate, a class that can can control space and do damage with a flak grenade, a class that can still do good damage up close, a class that can kill you instantly with a grapple at point blank, a class that can kill you without even hitting you with their shot at all and around corners, and a class that builds juice super easily.
Yeah, that's not...ridiculous.
VH: Grats on ze job.
98% of snipers fall easily to even barely-competent assassins.
There are some good positions that can be entirely closed off with traps, though.
That's when I smoke-jump and land on their heads. Filleted one dude while I was rooted in place.
anyone who plays the assassin character or the sniper character generally has some sort of a personality defect
I normally don't do stealth characters well, but I'm a pretty baller assassin in MNC. Even when laggy grapple mechanics steal my kill I easily escape to try again later. Late game when I've maxed dash and smoke I'm like the fuckin' wind - swift and omnipresent.
Snipers in MNC are busted. A class that has an instant death attack at any range, a class that can throw down multiple traps that root when they detonate AND after they detonate, a class that can can control space and do damage with a flak grenade, a class that can still do good damage up close, a class that can kill you instantly with a grapple at point blank, a class that can kill you without even hitting you with their shot at all and around corners, and a class that builds juice super easily.
Yeah, that's not...ridiculous.
VH: Grats on ze job.
98% of snipers fall easily to even barely-competent assassins.
There are some good positions that can be entirely closed off with traps, though.
That's when I smoke-jump and land on their heads. Filleted one dude while I was rooted in place.
There are lotsa bad snipers, yeah. But good snipers basically win.
I think the last game I played of MNC really left a bad taste in my mouth. Steel Peel, 2 snipers, 2 support, all level 99 and good and 2, hell, it didn't even matter what the other two players were. There's just no getting through 2 turrets, 6 air strikes, numerous hacked turrets, 6 ice traps, 2 flak grenades, over healed bots plus the constant explosive sniper fire spam with 4 guys that can build juice very rapidly while on the defense. Blegh. Oh, and I think they had a gunner on their team that did nothing but spam bouncers.
It's not even that we lost, which we ultimately did at the end. It was that the entire match was intensely unfun.
Through the power of the internet, I will now make you all cry.
When I was six years old, my parents got a golden Labrador puppy. His name was Rusty. He was a tiny thing, and enjoyed biting the end of a blanket and being dangled in the air by it. Soon he was too big for this, but he never stopped loving that blanket, so we let him have it, torn and disgustingly soaked with dog slobber as it was. He would lie in the kitchen and bite into it and sit there with his face buried in it.Being a young boy, I was naturally pretty mean to him. I would tackle him, have play fights with him, steal his things. But not once did he ever bite me. He always forgave my behavior and was desperately happy to see me again if I had been away. I did not give much thought to this at the time.
As I grew older, I went away to school. I thought Rusty would forget about me, but whenever I returned for holidays he would see me, run back to the kitchen and fetch his blanket and come up to me. He enjoyed playing tug of war with it. One day I tugged too hard and ripped it a little. He stared at the blanket for a while, and took it away. After that he never played tug of war with me - he would simply let it go if I pulled - but he would always greet me with it in his mouth when I came home.
I continued to be mean to him, especially when watching TV. He made a very good pillow, so I would make him lie down in front of the TV and then lie back with my head resting on him. Patiently, sometimes for hours, he would lie there. If he tried to get up, I would firmly push him back down, and he would obediently lie down again.
I would only see him when I got home from school. I did not realize it at the time, but Rusty was my oldest and closest friend. He got older. Like many Labradors, he began suffering from arthritis in the joints of his rear legs. When I took him for walks, he found it harder and harder to go as far as he used to. He stopped running. One day I took him for a walk, and he collapsed. I carried him home in my arms.
My parents knew that Rusty was too old now. I was 20, so I should have known it too. But I refused to even discuss the possibility of putting him to sleep.
I took him on walks, but this simply consisted of going outside the house a few yards so he could relieve himself. His back legs were so bad from arthritis that he would collapse into his own shit as he tried to go. So I bent beside him, and held him up as he went, holding his haunches. It was disgusting. It was sickening. I never minded. One day he started yelping and whining with every limping step he took. My parents took me to the vet. He told me that Rusty was living in constant pain, and to keep him like this was cruelty.
The day we took him to the vet was bright and sunny. I hated God, the world and everyone in it for that. My mother went inside to arrange things. I was left outside with Rusty (I also think they left me out there to let me say my goodbyes in private). Near the vet, someone had left a poodle tied to a fence. It was extremely strange, as the owner didn't seem to be anywhere in sight. The poodle was female. Rusty had never been with other dogs. We had no other pets, and the limit of his experience was meeting other dogs during walks.
Now he was suddenly interested in this female poodle. So when, amazingly, Rusty got up, trembling, desperately holding himself up, trying to maintain his pride and dignity and walking without a sound towards the poodle, I did nothing but turned half-away, to make it seem I hadn't noticed. Rusty managed to get across to the poodle. To my utter astonishment, she didn't seem to be put off by him. She turned around. Rusty lifted his front legs to mount her. His back legs went out from under him, and he collapsed. His bladder lost control and started spewing piss all over the pavement. The poodle moved away, looking more confused than disgusted.
Rusty simply lay there, silent, looking around helplessly as his bladder emptied itself. Some of it was soaking into his fur. I walked over to Rusty, put my arms around him and hugged him, and helped him get up. I whispered that I loved him. I helped him away, and did my best to get the worst of the piss out of his fur.
Eventually, my mother came out and called us inside. I had to help Rusty into the vet's. We went into a small clinical room, past a bunch of people waiting with their pets, who just watched curiously as a 20 year old man helped an old golden Labrador walk in, holding up his haunches. I don't know if they could smell the piss. I had to lift him up onto the cold steel table, under the bright lights. There were three people there, the vet, two assistants. My mother watched from the door. I stroked Rusty's head. He never liked going to the vet. The vet said to me, "You should go."
Without thinking I turned and walked out the door. Once I was outside, I turned. The door was closing. But just before it closed, I saw him. He had lifted his head, and was looking towards me. I know he was just a dog, so I know he wasn't thinking about death. What I saw in his face was: "I'm kind of scared. This place is weird. These people are strange. I need reassurance. But you brought me here, so I guess it's okay." The door closed. I had seen him alive for the last time.
I walked out of the vet's, feeling numb. My mother was crying, and she went to the car. I kept walking without saying a word. I walked down street after street until I didn't know where I was. And then it hit me. The full force of it. The naked fucking monstrous of it. I had just left my childhood friend to die alone, afraid and uncertain, in a room full of strangers. I doubled over, feeling nauseous. I slumped against a wall and slowly slid down it. And the tears came. Tears of self-loathing, of wanting more than anything else in the world to go back and change what I had just done. To do it differently.
My mother found me half an hour later, still crumpled up in the doorway, crying. She took me home. That was 11 years ago. I have never had another pet since then, but sometimes, I sit and look down at a filthy torn old blanket in my hands.
When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was "bad," you'd shake your finger at me and ask, "How could you?" -- but then you'd relent and roll me over for a belly rub. My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect.
We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs" you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day. Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love. She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" -- still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy. Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate.
Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love." As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch -- because your touch was now so infrequent -- and I would've defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway. There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog," and you resented every expenditure on my behalf. Now, you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your only family.
I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said, "I know you will find a good home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with "papers." You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar, as he screamed, "No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life. You gave me a good-bye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too. After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked, "How could you?" They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you that you had changed your mind -- that this was all a bad dream... or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited.
I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears, and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her, and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured, "How could you?"
Perhaps because she understood my dog speak, she said, "I'm so sorry." She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself -- a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place. And with my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not directed at her. It was directed at you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of you. I will think of you and wait for you forever. May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.
(none of these are mine, just found them browsing reddit)
Dragon Age: I dislike how useful it is to just run away to the previous room when a mob aggros your party. Often it's the only way for my party to not get owned within 10 seconds, but it feels counter-intuitive for a game that is supposed to be so hardcore to have to be this scared of entering combat.
Snipers in MNC are busted. A class that has an instant death attack at any range, a class that can throw down multiple traps that root when they detonate AND after they detonate, a class that can can control space and do damage with a flak grenade, a class that can still do good damage up close, a class that can kill you instantly with a grapple at point blank, a class that can kill you without even hitting you with their shot at all and around corners, and a class that builds juice super easily.
Yeah, that's not...ridiculous.
VH: Grats on ze job.
98% of snipers fall easily to even barely-competent assassins.
There are some good positions that can be entirely closed off with traps, though.
That's when I smoke-jump and land on their heads. Filleted one dude while I was rooted in place.
There are lotsa bad snipers, yeah. But good snipers basically win.
I think the last game I played of MNC really left a bad taste in my mouth. Steel Peel, 2 snipers, 2 support, all level 99 and good and 2, hell, it didn't even matter what the other two players were. There's just no getting through 2 turrets, 6 air strikes, numerous hacked turrets, 6 ice traps, 2 flak grenades, over healed bots plus the constant explosive sniper fire spam with 4 guys that can build juice very rapidly while on the defense. Blegh. Oh, and I think they had a gunner on their team that did nothing but spam bouncers.
It's not even that we lost, which we ultimately did at the end. It was that the entire match was intensely unfun.
Yea, it's the creeping death that's just not fun. Which makes me feel kinda bad because that is the way I tend to approach strategy games - like I often played a lockdown control deck in MtG and now I understand my opponents' frustration.
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Hi I'm Vee!Formerly VH; She/Her; Is an E X P E R I E N C ERegistered Userregular
edited October 2010
Well, hopefully the servers are functioning so I can play this afternoon. I have another early night tonight, and obviously I can't count on playing with friends in the evening, so I'd like to get some time in later today.
I could never get a dog, the responsibility would be too much for me. Same with children, actually, but whatevs.
's like, animals are innocent, so any harm that comes upon them is the fault of whomever assumed ownership over them. Actually feel guilty about the dog who died when I was in India, I was taking care of him after he was attacked and then he died less than 2 weeks later without me noticing he had gotten worse. Even though I did my best, it wasn't good enough and there wasn't anyone around who could have done better.
I haven't played in about a month now. Did the patch help anything?
Not having to worry about people shooting your moneyball was nice at PAX, only bots can bring down the shields which is how the always meant to have it work.
I understand that there were minor support nerfs as well.
Through the power of the internet, I will now make you all cry.
When I was six years old, my parents got a golden Labrador puppy. His name was Rusty. He was a tiny thing, and enjoyed biting the end of a blanket and being dangled in the air by it. Soon he was too big for this, but he never stopped loving that blanket, so we let him have it, torn and disgustingly soaked with dog slobber as it was. He would lie in the kitchen and bite into it and sit there with his face buried in it.Being a young boy, I was naturally pretty mean to him. I would tackle him, have play fights with him, steal his things. But not once did he ever bite me. He always forgave my behavior and was desperately happy to see me again if I had been away. I did not give much thought to this at the time.
As I grew older, I went away to school. I thought Rusty would forget about me, but whenever I returned for holidays he would see me, run back to the kitchen and fetch his blanket and come up to me. He enjoyed playing tug of war with it. One day I tugged too hard and ripped it a little. He stared at the blanket for a while, and took it away. After that he never played tug of war with me - he would simply let it go if I pulled - but he would always greet me with it in his mouth when I came home.
I continued to be mean to him, especially when watching TV. He made a very good pillow, so I would make him lie down in front of the TV and then lie back with my head resting on him. Patiently, sometimes for hours, he would lie there. If he tried to get up, I would firmly push him back down, and he would obediently lie down again.
I would only see him when I got home from school. I did not realize it at the time, but Rusty was my oldest and closest friend. He got older. Like many Labradors, he began suffering from arthritis in the joints of his rear legs. When I took him for walks, he found it harder and harder to go as far as he used to. He stopped running. One day I took him for a walk, and he collapsed. I carried him home in my arms.
My parents knew that Rusty was too old now. I was 20, so I should have known it too. But I refused to even discuss the possibility of putting him to sleep.
I took him on walks, but this simply consisted of going outside the house a few yards so he could relieve himself. His back legs were so bad from arthritis that he would collapse into his own shit as he tried to go. So I bent beside him, and held him up as he went, holding his haunches. It was disgusting. It was sickening. I never minded. One day he started yelping and whining with every limping step he took. My parents took me to the vet. He told me that Rusty was living in constant pain, and to keep him like this was cruelty.
The day we took him to the vet was bright and sunny. I hated God, the world and everyone in it for that. My mother went inside to arrange things. I was left outside with Rusty (I also think they left me out there to let me say my goodbyes in private). Near the vet, someone had left a poodle tied to a fence. It was extremely strange, as the owner didn't seem to be anywhere in sight. The poodle was female. Rusty had never been with other dogs. We had no other pets, and the limit of his experience was meeting other dogs during walks.
Now he was suddenly interested in this female poodle. So when, amazingly, Rusty got up, trembling, desperately holding himself up, trying to maintain his pride and dignity and walking without a sound towards the poodle, I did nothing but turned half-away, to make it seem I hadn't noticed. Rusty managed to get across to the poodle. To my utter astonishment, she didn't seem to be put off by him. She turned around. Rusty lifted his front legs to mount her. His back legs went out from under him, and he collapsed. His bladder lost control and started spewing piss all over the pavement. The poodle moved away, looking more confused than disgusted.
Rusty simply lay there, silent, looking around helplessly as his bladder emptied itself. Some of it was soaking into his fur. I walked over to Rusty, put my arms around him and hugged him, and helped him get up. I whispered that I loved him. I helped him away, and did my best to get the worst of the piss out of his fur.
Eventually, my mother came out and called us inside. I had to help Rusty into the vet's. We went into a small clinical room, past a bunch of people waiting with their pets, who just watched curiously as a 20 year old man helped an old golden Labrador walk in, holding up his haunches. I don't know if they could smell the piss. I had to lift him up onto the cold steel table, under the bright lights. There were three people there, the vet, two assistants. My mother watched from the door. I stroked Rusty's head. He never liked going to the vet. The vet said to me, "You should go."
Without thinking I turned and walked out the door. Once I was outside, I turned. The door was closing. But just before it closed, I saw him. He had lifted his head, and was looking towards me. I know he was just a dog, so I know he wasn't thinking about death. What I saw in his face was: "I'm kind of scared. This place is weird. These people are strange. I need reassurance. But you brought me here, so I guess it's okay." The door closed. I had seen him alive for the last time.
I walked out of the vet's, feeling numb. My mother was crying, and she went to the car. I kept walking without saying a word. I walked down street after street until I didn't know where I was. And then it hit me. The full force of it. The naked fucking monstrous of it. I had just left my childhood friend to die alone, afraid and uncertain, in a room full of strangers. I doubled over, feeling nauseous. I slumped against a wall and slowly slid down it. And the tears came. Tears of self-loathing, of wanting more than anything else in the world to go back and change what I had just done. To do it differently.
My mother found me half an hour later, still crumpled up in the doorway, crying. She took me home. That was 11 years ago. I have never had another pet since then, but sometimes, I sit and look down at a filthy torn old blanket in my hands.
When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was "bad," you'd shake your finger at me and ask, "How could you?" -- but then you'd relent and roll me over for a belly rub. My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect.
We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs" you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day. Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love. She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" -- still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy. Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate.
Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love." As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch -- because your touch was now so infrequent -- and I would've defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway. There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog," and you resented every expenditure on my behalf. Now, you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your only family.
I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said, "I know you will find a good home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with "papers." You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar, as he screamed, "No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life. You gave me a good-bye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too. After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked, "How could you?" They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you that you had changed your mind -- that this was all a bad dream... or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited.
I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears, and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her, and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured, "How could you?"
Perhaps because she understood my dog speak, she said, "I'm so sorry." She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself -- a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place. And with my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not directed at her. It was directed at you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of you. I will think of you and wait for you forever. May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.
(none of these are mine, just found them browsing reddit)
Posts
Where did you read that? I'm intrigued.
Okay, time for classes + the gym.
edit: Found it. This will be interesting.
Kinda wanna pick her up just to team her up with Garens.
It would take some unusual circumstances for me to approve of there being more than one on a team, though.
Other people *coughThanatoscough* don't have the same level of appreciation, particularly when it comes to Southern accents.
Back to LoL for a second: will you be around later this afternoon? I might have time to play around 1:30 or 2:00 eastern time.
my favourite tactic that went out of vogue pretty quick was on oasis, second set of crates
take a tank
drive past their base, go round the back, level the house where the crate is at
I'm playing it now, as a dwarven noble, I'm attempting to be a nice dwarf that just happens to consider kicking down doors a valid way to gain entrance. I'm a bit short-tempered hurr hurr.
t Sander: I was expecting more polish. The same "do you need a ladder? ... to get off my back" line a kazillion times, some of the glitches, no way to reset your character without loading an add-on and the mechanical way in which approval rating is increased get old quick. I'm also less than pleased with the combat, I'm scrolled out to max distance all the time and still have to pan around a lot to find where the archers are hiding behind this time.
Rainbow Death Laser is kinda hard to pass up, though.
Yeah, that's not...ridiculous.
VH: Grats on ze job.
A certain set of mans is free each week and rotates. To permanently unlock a champ you can either spend $$ or points that you earn via just playing the game, win or lose.
Putting a research article on the desk of the Maddow Show.
You should digg it; it's in my sig ;-).
Also, I'll be back up there later. We should grab a lunch or something.
Let's play Mario Kart or something...
Yea, I ought to be around. I dunno if the servers will be, though.
this is true in most all games
anyone who plays the assassin character or the sniper character generally has some sort of a personality defect
I've played assassin
shit ain't all that easy and pretty much everybody builds around the possibility so it's kind of risky
sniper? fuck youuuuuu
I prefer this crazy politician.
It's patch day, and a big patch at that.
There are some good positions that can be entirely closed off with traps, though.
That's when I smoke-jump and land on their heads. Filleted one dude while I was rooted in place.
the "no true scotch man" fallacy.
Yeah, assassins are squishy and have cooldowns.
Sniper's only cooldown is reloading.
Makes me sad.
I normally don't do stealth characters well, but I'm a pretty baller assassin in MNC. Even when laggy grapple mechanics steal my kill I easily escape to try again later. Late game when I've maxed dash and smoke I'm like the fuckin' wind - swift and omnipresent.
There are lotsa bad snipers, yeah. But good snipers basically win.
I think the last game I played of MNC really left a bad taste in my mouth. Steel Peel, 2 snipers, 2 support, all level 99 and good and 2, hell, it didn't even matter what the other two players were. There's just no getting through 2 turrets, 6 air strikes, numerous hacked turrets, 6 ice traps, 2 flak grenades, over healed bots plus the constant explosive sniper fire spam with 4 guys that can build juice very rapidly while on the defense. Blegh. Oh, and I think they had a gunner on their team that did nothing but spam bouncers.
It's not even that we lost, which we ultimately did at the end. It was that the entire match was intensely unfun.
(none of these are mine, just found them browsing reddit)
I play like, once a week at most
I pretty much can't compete anymore
's like, animals are innocent, so any harm that comes upon them is the fault of whomever assumed ownership over them. Actually feel guilty about the dog who died when I was in India, I was taking care of him after he was attacked and then he died less than 2 weeks later without me noticing he had gotten worse. Even though I did my best, it wasn't good enough and there wasn't anyone around who could have done better.
Not having to worry about people shooting your moneyball was nice at PAX, only bots can bring down the shields which is how the always meant to have it work.
I understand that there were minor support nerfs as well.
pleasepaypreacher.net
Phoenix Wright and Professor Layton crossover game?!
Hahahaha what?
the "no true scotch man" fallacy.