1.

A child explains the concept of fire flowers to his mother:

“First you need to get a mushroom if you’re small. You hit the question blocks. If you’re big then instead of a mushroom there will be a fire flower. When you get it you turn red and shoot fireballs.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah and you can kill anything by shooting them except for Buzzy Beetle because of it’s shell and Bowser takes five hits.”

“Ah.”

2.

I wake up Saturday morning with a throbbing hangover. Usually a nice thick torrent of vomit provides a solid remedy, but I heave and retch to no avail while wrapped around a laughing toilet. With determination, I slam a few Tums to soothe my heartburn and eat a bowl of instant blueberry oatmeal. I want to know where oatmeal companies get their blueberries – they’re so tiny and delicious. A few minutes later I attempt to induce vomiting once again and unleash a bowl’s worth of undigested instant blueberry oatmeal and bits of Tums. After thinking for a moment, I slam a few more Tums to be sure my twitching body absorbs the stomach soothing agents. Still feeling nauseous, I slam a Pabst, masturbate, and take a cold shower. Much better.

3.

The Kingdom of Loathing is a web-based MMO where you are allowed to click things a certain number of times each day. Most of these things are buttons and hyperlinks, but sometimes they are map areas that were drawn in MS Paint. Your stick-figure hero can earn titles like “Yeast Scholar”, wear “Ravioli Hats”, and battle “Undead Elbow Macaroni” and such. It’s a pretty sweet game I guess.

While hypnotized by the Kingdom of Loathing motorized diorama depicting the signature stick-figure hero – sword in one hand martini in the other – advancing and retreating from a giant tentacle wall, I’m accosted by the two booth girls. They are cute and ask me if I’ve played the game. I decide that the game sucks.

“Yeah, that game sucks,” I say. “It makes no sense.”

They basically accuse me of being a slave to advanced graphics and rendering engines and I state that it’s simply not the case. I don’t like clicking things and reading ridiculous passages (both are lies). I then notice that girl #1 is wearing a Minibosses t-shirt, which is very hot, and ask her it she’s going to the show later. She says yes (not verbatim) and claims to be friends with the band. I ask her if she’s from Phoenix and she says yes (also not verbatim). I tell her Arizona sucks and smells funny. She then grabs her digital camera and shows me a photograph of MC Frontalot passed out in the corner of their booth. I’m delighted.

4.

A scantily clad female bounty hunter of sorts with long rocket tits stares down a giant inflatable Pikachu. Enough said.

5.

People crowd around a table, awaiting their chance to spin the Mega64 Wheel of Mystery. I lurk behind them, cowering from the unrecognizable, raw power emanating from the large black disk. What secrets will this artifact unleash?

A brave soul spins: Tattoo.
The wheel host calls for the young participant to outstretch his arm. With a Sharpie, he doodles something quickly by his elbow. I cannot see the result, but I’d like to think it’s a tiny cock and balls.

A brave soul spins: Constructive Criticism.
Without hesitation, the wheel host calmly explains that the font on the participant’s shirt is old and busted, and they should avoid wearing clothing with out of style fonts. The participant agrees.

A brave soul spins: Game Ruined.
Immediately, the wheel is taken behind the booth and out of sight. “Sorry,” the wheel host addresses the crowd. “This guy ruined it for everyone.” This is fine with me because my hangover headache is starting to pound again. I retreat to the restroom for some dry heaving.