Blasphemous? Perhaps. But damn funny.

I knew I should have fixed the car last night.

When Jess came out of Wal-Mart on her way to pick me up from work yesterday, she noticed something bizarre: the trunk was wide open. Alarmed, she checked for anything missing (our trunk is packed with stuff from the old house, still) and closed it up. When she turned it on and put it in reverse, the trunk opened again. It continued to open every time she shifted to reverse. Oddly, it only happened when the door was closed. The obvious answer was to simply keep the door opened when backing up, and then close it when shifting to drive, but she didn't want it to open again while moving.

So, she bungee-corded it with help from my uncle and made the trip to my job. I figured that it was an electrical short somewhere and decided to detach the cable from the trunk release mechanism. We had a problem with the latch before, so I knew the ins and outs of trunkal machinery. It was easy. I'd do it later.

I came inside, hunkered down in the chair, and set myself to the task of finishing The Running Man by Stephen King. I bought it while Mewd was here and it sucked me in. (By the way, everybody should read The Running Man, because it was awesome. I haven't seen the movie, but it sucks. Don't see the movie. Read the book. Night and day.) I had a little under a hundred pages to go, so I breezed on through. It was dark by the time I was done, so I just left the trunk as it was and decided to fix it today instead.

Overtime week starts today, so my uncle, off to work himself, took me to the job, like we always do. Twelve o'clock, I get a text message: "Car is dead."

I knew I should have fixed it yesterday. I suck. Luckily our neighbor has a high-powered battery charger (unlike my uncle's, which is from 1964), and while we got the car running, another neighbor took a screwdriver to the mechanism and popped the plug right out. And that was that. Trunk: fixed. Hopefully, so is our battery.

The visit with Mewd was awesome. It was a return to the form of our youth: a week (well, in my case, five days) with nothing to do, no obligations but to laugh and grow fat. We plowed through so many video games, you wouldn't even believe. We never quite got to have a speed run contest for Super Metroid on account of me not being able to find my SNES cart, but it was gravy anyway. He mauled Metal Gear Solid 4, finishing it in a staggering 12-ish hours, and we also co-oped from beginning to end in Mortal Kombat: Shaolin Monks. Aside from that, it was gaming in chunks. An afternoon of PixelJunk Monsters ("If Fire Tower ran for President, his running mate would be another Fire Tower. And they would win."), the destruction of House of the Dead 2, plenty of Soul Calibur IV (which rocks your socks, by the way), and even a decent helping of Armored Core. It was glorious.

He also subjected me to anime, the series in question being Excel Saga, which -- I hate to admit -- was actually pretty fun, mostly due to the fact that it is entirely absurd and about as far off the wall as you can get. Perhaps nothing will ever get me to enjoy the stuff, as I prefer sticking to Western entertainment over sugary Japanese animation (badass shows like Hellsing totally notwithstanding), but I can admit when something is okay. I really wish I had the Frisky Dingo DVD set on hand, because I think I would quite enjoy spreading the Killface virus, but live and learn.

He took many, many pictures of the Cleveland lifestyle that I need to get my hands on, such as an old guy in a hat lounging on a bench in the local mall, but we only really took a couple together with my camera. Here we are, posing menacingly with our Perfect Shots in hand. Notice my vain attempt to look threatening while he just settles for a goofy grin:



And here's just a regular, obligatory, "for the ol' scrapbook" shot. Not that the poses won't make it in eventual scrapbooks either.



Ah, memories. It was a really fun time. When next we meet, though, it's Biff Barf that will have the upper hand in SoulCal, my friend. Tread lightly.

He has arrived.

We're about eight hours from launch of the Party Spectacular Celebration known as Mewd's arrival. I did a test run around downtown Cleveland, trying to find my way to the Amtrak station, and a five-minute trip ended up taking an hour.

I hate downtown Cleveland.

Anyway, time is short. We're in the twilight of the preparation process, and here I am, blogging from the computer room instead of cleaning it out and moving a bed in like I'm supposed to. He's going to have to sleep in here, with my Travis Hafner bobblehead box glaring at him and my Monty Python's Flying Circus collection making 70's pop culture references at him in a British accent. Problem is, unless I get this done, he'll be sleeping on my golf clubs, SNES games, miscellaneous computer accessories, and five bags of old clothes. At least the computer parts would make a nice pillow.

I really should be doing something productive. Okay, back to it then. Next time I talk to you, it'll be from within the void.

Wish me luck.

The countdown has begun. In fifty-five and one half hours, we will be picking Mewd up from the train station.

This is sort of a big deal, because after talking to him online for eight years, we finally meet face to face. Indeed, it is not all for fun and camaraderie. The storm of an epic struggle is brewing somewhere along yon horizon. Its very foundation has been evaporating into the atmosphere for every second of these eight years, and when he arrives in Cleveland, the clouds will break and the skies will rain blood.

Clash of the Titans wasn't originally about Greek mythology, it was about this very week, but they had to change it because they didn't want one of us to see it and spoil the ending. That's right, I'm talkin' World War III blues. I'm not talkin' Allies versus Axis, pirates versus ninjas, Pepsi versus Coke, Burger King versus McDonalds. I'm talkin' the end of known civilization.

Chuck Norris quakes in his boots.

One Wii with Super Metroid on the Virtual Console, one Super Nintendo with Super Metroid in the console. Both hooked up to the TV, rigged for side-by-side picture-in-picture. Speed Running Championship of the Universe.

Soul Calibur tournaments. Co-op Metal Slug. TimeSplitters deathmatches. Smash Bros. face-offs. Mortal Kombat II pulverizing. And, of course, force-feeding the excellence in execution, Metal Gear Solid 4, down his throat. This is not technically a two-player experience, but it will be when I'm laughing at him for dying often and having to body-slam everybody because he's as stealthy as a fire hydrant.

At any rate, you see, I will have the upper-hand, because I know his weakness. Like Superman to Kryptonite, vampires to garlic, and Uwe Boll to quality, Mewd is mortally devastated by celery. The very texture makes his skin peel back from his muscles. I should know, I read about it in books. If ever I start to lose -- which is unlikely, because I'm the champion at everything except Zelda II, which to this day I cannot suffer through -- I can pull out this secret weapon and threaten his very soul.

Oh yes, it is on. I thought about doing some other stuff, like showing him the beautiful city or watching a movie or appreciating the subtle intricacies of 1970's progressive rock, but instead I think I'll just dominate the video game scene for a week. Billy Mitchell himself will step one foot into my living room and proclaim the gaming too hardcore for him. And I won't blame him; it will be hardcore.

Two weeks have passed to the day, and I'm finally updating. You might ask yourself, "Self, where has his highness, the great king of bagels been lately?"

The answer is, quite simply... remarkably boring: I haven't had anything to say.

(Edit from the future of writing this post: Apparently I'm a filthy liar. Paragraphs await.)

E3 was this past week. That should bring to mind some great post-worthy topics, no? Well, normally, it would, except E3 has been liquefied into a steaming vile of bird vomit. It's just not fun anymore. There's no good news. There are no good games. Half of the notable gaming world is totally absent from the "Media and Business Summit." In fact, it's BECAUSE it's a Media and Business Summit that E3 has been made irrelevant. It used to be THE place to unveil your latest creation, to drop the biggest bombs of your generation onto the gaming world. Now look at it.

I mean it, dear reader. I am going to force this point down your throat. Look at it. Look at it, look at it, look at it, LOOK AT IT!!

I remember when the Electronic Entertainment Expo was the biggest event in gaming. If you weren't unveiling your newest creation or beating your competitor silly with earth-shattering news at E3, you weren't a popular child. Gaming websites would get downright unreadable during that magical week in May as news flooded the headlines.

Now, what's the point? Nintendo's squandering away their potential-rife Wii console with drivel such as Wii Music and Wii Sports 2. Their biggest surprise was the Wii MotionPlus, a peripheral that supposedly adds functionality to the remote, but isn't even available for developers yet and thus won't be utilized for some time. Where's the next Zelda game, the next Mario game? Screw that, where's the next Metroid game? There is seriously no future right now in Metroid land. Corruption finished off the Prime trilogy, which were prequels, and there hasn't been an "official" game in the timeline since Fusion, Metroid 4, and that was back in 2002.

While Nintendo is embarrassing their core group of fans that actually enjoys real video games, Sony and Microsoft are deeply entrenched in the battle of who-could-care-less. Microsoft has Avatars, which aren't at all cheap knockoffs of Miis! They also have Final Fantasy XIII now, so take that PS3 loyalists! On the other side of the show, Sony has an hour and a half press conference, with... not much to say beyond the Inevitable God of War 3! Also: Inevitable Resistance 2, rentable movies from your game console, and we're still waiting on Home, but don't worry guys, it's gonna rule your faces. What does it all mean, Basil?

Oh well. The entire Internet is abuzz with the bad; this blog post itself has fallen victim to the guilty pleasure of whining endlessly without anything constructive to say. Instead, let's focus on what was good at E3. Actually, let's make this easy and just focus on what's good with gaming in general.

Mega Man 9. Looking superb. I've dusted off the Anniversary Collection in anticipation. Capcom has a hit on their hands here. In this modern gaming landscape of high-definition pissing contests and social networking smorgasbords, they have set their skillful hands to the task of creating Mega Man 9, an 8-bit sequel to a franchise whose last installment appeared on the PlayStation. Set for release on PSN, Xbox Live Arcade and Wiiware, Mega Man 9 is going back to the series' roots, and it looks absolutely glorious. See for yourself. Note the great box-art.

Fallout 3. Indeed, it's going to melt your brain. Post-apocalyptic anything makes my heart twitch, but a new entry into an excellent series made by the people who crafted the massive, awesome Oblivion? Sign me up.

Sony's week-long PSN sale. Not really much to note, but one of the discounted games -- PixelJunk Monsters -- is actually pretty fun, and while I wouldn't drop $10 because I'm cheap, $5 seems to be the right price. Besides, it doesn't matter what's on sale; any time there's a price cut on something like downloadable content, I'm all for it. The allure of pure-profit distribution and a controlled retail environment make for easy conditions to stick with a price point. By slashing prices, if only for a week, Sony's telling me, "We care a lot."

Brutal Legend. The only thing we know about this game is that it will actually tear your soul out of your throat and use it to shred heavenly guitar solos on an immaculate Stratocaster. Tim Schafer rules, and so does his new video game. If the gaming public doesn't turn this into solid gold, I'm turning my back on society.

Guitar Hero: World Tour will be compatible with Rock Band instruments. Not that I'm jumping ship, I'm still standing firmly on the side of Rock Band 2, but if GHWT ends up being great, I might be tempted to watch for a sale somewhere down the road. At least you don't have to buy their stupid-looking drum kit.

Castlevania: Judgment. Just kidding. Lame.

And last, but certainly not least:

Mortal Kombat vs. DC Universe. I maintain that this will be great. I was surprised when I heard about it, but cautiously optimistic; these days, I'm a full-blown supporter. I'm just a playable Shao Kahn announcement away from committing to this purchase. Do I need to refresh your memory with my prediction? I think I do:

Sidewalk chalk: $3.

Bottle of water: $2.

Mortar and pestle: $20.

Mix it all together, and you get: Pepto-Bismol.

I'm STILL sick. This is getting ridiculous. The cramps have all but disappeared, but I'm still having... symptoms. Symptoms that should not exist come the beginning of Dots week tomorrow. Standing around for twelve hours in a ninety-degree warehouse without air circulation is bad enough. I don't need to endure it along with unnecessary irritation. I stopped at Wal-greens after work and stocked up on medicinal supplies, the most embarrassing of which was NOT the Pepto-Bismol. It tastes terrible. Seriously, it's like liquefied chalk. The look and smell is deceiving; it looks like it might taste like bubble gum, and smells like something not much worse. Then you taste it, and you wonder if it made hop-scotch on your tongue. Oh well... as long as it works and stops certain irregularities, I'm happy.

Notice how this blog dances around the usage of obvious terminology. We strive for nothing but class here at the Deli.

Subject Change of the Day: Some sources claim they have procured the eighty-song setlist for Rock Band 2. Included in this speculative collection is none other than Bob Dylan's "Tangled Up in Blue." I'm not sure how it will translate to a four-piece band, but let me tell you, I am SO looking forward to warbling out the lyrics at the expense of Jessie's sanity. "I muttered something underneath my BREAAAATH, she STUDIED the lines in my faaaaaaaaace..."

Okay. That is all. You stay classy, Planet Earth.