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Oh steam thread...
I should stop buying competitive multiiplayer games. There's a pattern to each one I've bought in recent years, that goes like this:
- See a cool looking MP game on sale. Think "Neato, I can play this with friends, maybe". Poor impulse control takes over.
- Play the game. Have no bloody idea what's going on. Get my arse handed to me over and over again, and eventually quit in rage and shame.
- Think "I just need more practice! If I play enough I'll get good!"
- 20-30 game hours later: Have a vague idea about what's going on. Get my arse handed to me over and over again, and eventually quit in rage and shame.
- Realize that I'm never not going to suck, and abandon the game forever.
- Feel bad about myself.
I guess I shouldn't get frustrated at losing, but when my kill:death ratio is 1:10 and people on the server are asking me if I'm trolling... it... hurts my feelings. I should maybe stick to single player and co-op games.
It wouldn't be so bad except that I remember a time when I was GOOD at these things. I have no idea what happened to me. Old age? Cumulative brain damage? Several years of chronic sleep deprivation? Cursed by a witch? I just don't get it.
My girl has regular tooth-brushing before bed every night, and she usually insists that whoever's supervising also brushes their teeth, so she's seen that spitting is the proper way to finish. Of course she doesn't use real toothpaste, so there's no real need to spit, but she'll want to be lifted up to the sink anyway, when she's done, so she can pretend to spit, making a "BOIT!" sound to go with it. It's pretty funny.
We've gotten to the age where she freaks out about any problem she encounters, regardless of how large or small. It really seems like she's genuinely unable to tell the difference between spilled milk and a broken arm, in terms of appropriate response.
Yesterday she wanted to go out and play on the balcony, so my wife told her, "OK, but you need to put your boots on." So my daughter finds her boots, and attempts to put them on her feet, unsuccessfully. My wife tries to help, which triggers Toddler Rage. After a second failed attempt my daughter gets REALLY mad, and throws one of her boots across the room.
Now, she KNOWS she's not supposed to throw things, especially when angry, so IMMEDIATELY after throwing it, she sits down in a heap and starts to weep despondently. After a few seconds, in a tiny voice fraught with despair and self-recrimination, she says "Now we can't go ANYWHERE!" <sobs> "Just close the door."
She thought that throwing her boot was enough of a crime that cancelling the balcony trip was a foregone conclusion, without even waiting to see how we reacted. She's officially punishing herself for misbehaviour.
It was so hard not to laugh while explaining to her that boot-tossing was bad, but not THAT bad, and that she was still allowed to go outside. We kept having to take breaks to turn around & stifle giggles, while the poor girl looked up at us with such big regretful eyes.
Slightly delayed as always, and in no particular order the winners are:
@Jeix. This guy should work for NASA or something. Get this: Custard powder. I know, sounds crazy right?
But the thing about custard powder is:
a) it's edible, non-perishable and tasty
b) when combined with water, it's a non-Newtonian liquid (like corn starch), which means its density varies based on pressure, which means you can create pools with the stuff that fast-moving creatures can walk/run across, while slow-moving creatures sink as though in quicksand. Zombie moat, anyone?
c) the unmixed powder is actually quite flammable
These points lead me to believe that, in the event of a full-blown zombie apocalypse, the person or persons who control the custard suppy will in fact control the very future of mankind. Yeah.
@NotoriusBEN. A passage from one of my favorite shorts in World War Z. There's something compelling and poetic about a redemptive blind man offing a shambler with his prayer stick.
This is a conversation between the author of the Oral History of the Z War and an old blind Japanese gardener.
The old man had been blind since WW2, and has suffered from being ignored his whole life due to the pain of that war.
He had moved to Hokkaido, and had been tending a large forest garden near an Onsen. He encountered a brown
bear, whom he believed was a kami sent to kill him.
Who is Kami?
What is kami. The kami are the spirits that inhabit each and every facet of
our existence. We pray to them, honor them, hope to please them and
curry their favor. They are the same spirits that drive Japanese copora-
tions to bless the site of a soon-to-be constructed factory, and the Japanese
of my generation to worship the emperor as a god. The kami are the foun-
dation of Shinto, literally, "The Way of the Gods," and worship of nature is
one of its oldest, and most sacred principles.
That is why I believed their will was at work that day. By exiling myself
into the wilderness, I had polluted nature's purity. After dishonoring my-
self, my family, my country, I had at last taken that final step and dishon-
ored the gods. Now they had sent an assassin to do what I had been unable
to for so long, to erase my stink. I thanked the gods for their mercy. I wept
as I prepared myself for the blow.
It never came. The bear stopped panting then released a high, almost
childlike whimper. "What is wrong with you?" I actually said to the three-
hundred-kilogram carnivore. "Go on and finish me!" The bear continued
to whine like a frightened dog, then tore away from me with the speed of
hunted prey. It was then that I heard the moan. I spun, tried to focus my
ears. From the height of his mouth, I could tell he was taller than me. I
heard one foot dragging across the soft, moist earth and air bubbling from
a gaping wound in its chest.
I could hear it reaching out to me, groaning and swiping at empty air. I
managed to dodge its clumsy attempt and snatched up my ikupasuy. I cen-
tered my attack on the source of the creature's moan. I struck quickly, and
the crack vibrated up through my arms. The creature fell back upon the
earth as I released a triumphant shout of "Ten Thousand Years!"
It is difficult for me to describe my feelings at this moment. Fury had ex-
ploded within my heart, a strength and courage that drove away my shame
as the sun drives the night from heaven. I suddenly knew the gods had fa-
vored me. The bear hadn't been sent to kill me, it had been sent to warn
me. I didn't understand the reason right then, but I knew I had to survive
until the day when that reason was finally revealed.
@Shiflett. A clip from Zombieland. I mean, if they're around all the time, and you get used to slayin' 'em... eventually it becomes a bit of a game, right?
Thanks to everyone who entered!
Now, go shoot some decaying heads!