On the date of August 24th, 2005, I was caught with my pants down in front of a cop car that had been set on fire, while holding a book of matches in one hand and a tank of gasoline in the other. As part of my community service, I’ve been ordered to bestow my vast knowledge upon the gaming masses.
I’m a writer for a pretty well known videogame Web site, and I’m in a pickle. This company sent me a free game to review, and, as it turns out, the game is horrible. I’d like the company to keep sending me free games, but I have a feeling they won’t if I say their game is awful. On the other hand, I don’t want to forfeit my integrity and say the game rocks.
What should I do?
Integrity’s great and all, but don’t lose sight of who you are. You’re a videogame journalist, which means, in terms of integrity, you’re the equivalent of the lonely postal worker who spends his day sitting in a quiet, dark corner, opening up other people’s mail in the hopes of finding one the one love letter that’s been scented with perfume, so that he can sniff the letter while sadly masturbating into a used gym sock.
Seriously, take a look at any videogame magazine and read the articles. At least half of them read like the one quiet girl in high school who went slutty between 9th and 10th grade because she was so desperate to be liked. Deep down, all videogame journalists are just lonely people to be liked, even if free games are the only way for them to feel liked.
Now, I’m the last person to write about the influence or the journalistic importance of GameCola, to our large audience of three or four readers. Fans write gushing, disingenuous game reviews full of verbal blowjobs, and as long as you’re writing those kinds of reviews, your site is going to be little than a dime-a-dozen fan site. Writing professionally sometimes means having the balls (or ovaries) to say that a shit game is just that: shit.
Help! I lost the stylus to my DS! I have no idea how this happened, but it’s GONE. Now, I’m not looking for advice so much as I’m looking to an answer for where it went—after all, I always keep it with the system, as it’s got a built-in holding pen for the pen.
So where the hell did it go??
Anytime I lose something, I usually assume that my immigrant neighbors had something to do with it. Those Dwarven Canadian bastards are always trying to take my shit. One time they even had the gall to try to steal my car.
One morning, after a long night of boozing and snorting some sort of blue powder, I woke up form the strangest dream. I dreamt that I had maniacally driven my vehicle into a lake. What made it all the more strange was that I woke up completely naked except for a pair of soaked shoes.
I was so worried that I didn’t bother to put on any clothes when I left my apartment to check on my car. Luckily, it was still there, but those sawed-off Canucks were getting into my car. I still don’t know how they got my keys, or how they managed to change my car from a red Honda into a blue Nissan. Either way, I torched the car that night when I found out that my set of keys no longer worked in the door. I think they changed the locks.
P.S. What was your question, again?