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No spoilers


******attention readers of play first, talk later****

*****due to circumstances beyond his control, specifically crazy assed children plus a wife who worked at home, butch has lost his mind*****

*****even if he hadn’t, he had to hide in the bedroom watching a meaningless hockey game he could’ve cared less about until 845 last night to give junior “mommy time” to placate him*****

*****seriously. Mommy time*****

*****please continue to watch this space for further updates*****

*****and send booze*****




Wha….huh….I’m coming to…..

Dear GOD the kids. They need to understand the meaning of “Go away. Daddy needs some time to himself.”

And yes, Mrs. McP was all “Hey, you can play and we can watch,” but this is also a sentence the four people I live with do not understand. More a word choice. Watch, when you think about it, is, well, watching. Viewing something with your eyes. To my family:

Watch (v.): To sit in the same room with while talking to each other, either about the object being “watched” or, more likely something else.

And dude, I HATE people talking when I’m trying to play. I hate people talking when I’m trying to watch (the real watch) something! I think this stems from my mother, who fucking narrates every movie and TV show she watches, sometimes to the point of repeating dialog as soon as a character says it. Seriously.

(She also reads menus to you, as if you cannot read. “Ooo, look. They have eggplant.” “Yes, mom, I see that.” Pause. “They also have meatballs.” “Yes…I see that too.” “Ooo, save room, there’s desserts on the back-” “WILL YOU STOP IT??????” Pause. “One of the desserts is apple pie-” “AIEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” )

Junior’s the worst, because he tells me what to do. “You should do the Lenny mission now.” “There’s a cottage up there.” “Hey, deer, go hunting.”


MY GAME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You play YOUR GAMES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


I’m going to go light the white hot rage candle.


Yes, I can see how that just doesn’t work in terms of game time.


At least your white-hot rage was not triggered by the game itself. That will make the game feel better.


It can’t be caused by the game itself, as I did not play.

The best was one time when my mother was here, “watching,” by which I mean talking to the kids about something that wasn’t the game at all, and, when I asked her to knock it off, she said “You can see the game. Why do you have to hear it?” I looked at her as if she had lost her mind, and she doubled down: “Arcades were loud. You didn’t mind noise when you were playing pac man!”

This really got said.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe there was dialog where they discussed the ethereal nature of existence, how, really, we live in a confusing maze where all there is to do is drown our sorrows by overeating, running from the very souls that pursue us, reminding us of our own inabilities to leave the maze, unable to do anything to stop it besides knocking our souls back to a little box for a short time, but only when they get so blue they cannot stop us, cannot bring back any color to our dot chasing, banana eating lives.

I’ll never know.


That was actually a very nice philosophical musing on Pac-man. Well done!

If only you’d had time to play a game with some actual meaning to it, who knows what you’d be capable of!


I dunno. It’s been so long. I might be able to write incredibly interesting yet modest analysis, but I’d likely just come up with scents for weird candles and T SHIRTS. Hell, I’d probably capitalize T SHIRT for no real reason. Maybe throw altogether too many exclamation points after it, too.


I unfortunately don’t know much about Pac-man, and also haven’t really done anything recently in other games that we could talk about, so…uh…at least it’s Wednesday?


At least we’ve got candles!

“Nostalgic Seething” Should it be plural? Candles are often plural.

“Nostalgic Seethings.” I like it.
“White Hot Rage”
“Enticing Kneecaps”

Buy now.