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This is me to my lord and savior Jesus H. Christ this morning, as razor-sharp hail stones pelted me in my beautiful face as I walked from my car to work:
“Eff you, Jesus.”
Seriously, I mean, I know March is a slut and a liar, but this is ridiculous. Such a tease, this month. Here I am, when I could be telling you about love and beauty and the white hot fires of inspiration, but no. I’m here saying to you, “I don’t enjoy the temperature and amount of moisture condensing upon me.” What’s happening to me, Ben? What’s happening to us?
S got this new game God of War II yesterday. I basically sat and watched him play it for 4-5 hours. In it, you are former god Kratos, fallen from Mount Olympus, seeking to go back in time (something P says is totally impossible) to kill Zeus. Within four minutes of playing it you’re fighting a 30 story statue, and S is screwing around breaking things in this bath house and found a secret room where you eff a couple Rhodesian women – which happens off-screen of course – but you have to execute some analog stick movements, including fast forward and back motions, and the swirl. If you please the women, you gain experience.
But you see breasts, and S said something like, “imagine being in middle school and having access to a game with breasts in it.” I brought up Leisure Suit Larry, but we figured that didn’t really count. I mean, is a tan square with a smaller pink square in the middle considered a breast? It depends on context, my good lad. Always on the context.