Throwback Thursday: Let's Play Together

Normally when I do one of these Throwback Thursday posts it is full of happiness, a touch of sentiment, and a lot of reminiscing, but today I am filled with rage . . . added to all the other things mentioned above.

What has me so riled up? Video games.

I have never been a huge video gamer, but back in the day there was nothing better than coming home from school and beating my brother at NHL 96 for the Sega Genesis while he beat me at nearly every other game, or going over to my buddy Mike’s house and four of us plugging into the N64 and playing some Golden Eye.  When we got older the systems changed to the Play Station and the Game Cube where we all sat in a room together eating Domino's talking while our thumbs clicked the buttons.

Five or six of us would pile into my little room and my parents house, pop Super Smash Brothers into that wonderful purple cube and we would brawl for hours on end usually I wasn’t the victor, but my character was the greatest of all time and I was surrounded by friends having real life conversation, so it didn't matter that I killed myself more than my enemies.

Even today I’ll have people over (usually just my brother) and sit next to them why we tackle some video game together drinking beers and being blown away by random math theories coming from my brother’s mouth. Like this guy Zeno who blew my mind with his thought . . . he was a philosopher and math people basically told him he was wrong and to go fuck himself and they came up with some crazy shit where you multiply a letter to some numbers and it does some black magic  voodoo and proves Zeno wrong.  I mean go read about Zeno’s paradox right here on the always reliable Wikipedia. Shit is confusing and hurts my head. I know words, I don’t want to think about math and how it actually has relevance to life I’ll leave that to Andrew.

Now like usual I have to transition back to my topic because I went on some unrelated tangent.

Hold on one second; let me look back . . . ah, video games that’s right.

As you may have noted at the beginning I said I was full of rage. That may not have shown just but now I will tell you why I am full of anger. I touched on it here and some of those are still reasons, I really still can’t see my gosh darn forehead for Christ’s sake.

But, that has nothing to do with this post so I digress.

I am angry today in a way related to this post and I will now get to this.

Back in the day playing a multi player video game required to you to have actual friends sitting in the room with you, but now these bastards at the video games companies put everything online to make them more money. Well fuck them.

I get playing online, you play tougher competition and it may be fun, but I am an old school type of fellow and I want to play a co-op campaign with some sitting next to me drinking beers and shooting the shit like real fucking people.  Why do they make these new games one player with multi player only online? It is dumb and makes me want to just . . . it makes me want to . . . 

Ok, maybe not that extreme, but it sure does make me angry. I refuse to buy new systems because I can’t play some cool shooter game with friends unless I pay for some online service and play with them over the interwebs. I should start a petition to have them make a remake of Golden Eye with only offline multiplayer: someone go do that for me. Also, include that the game when bought should come with a Domino's gift certificate. I would buy a PS4 or Xbox One if that was the case.

Why can’t we be social in our lame video gaming playing? If anyone out there reading this wants to play video games with me call me and come over and we can take down warlocks or whatever the fuck you fight in Golden Axe.

Now I will calm down and get to the next section of my Throwback Thursday post which should get you dancing.

The following is a small list of some of the games I loved and still love and play enjoy and come over and play some time.

NHL 96

This is my favorite game ever and I will challenge any one. Bring it the fuck on bitches. It is in my basement ready to go. Let's grab beers randomize the teams and have a tournament. I also have very fond memories of my Uncle Tommy always bringing this game down when he visited and we would play endlessly. 

Tecmo Super Bowl

The greatest football video game ever, you all can keep your Madden and I’ll just run all over you with the unstoppable Bo Jackson. I actually had a tournament of this game last year and I should have another one so my buddy Nick can defend his title.

Super Mario Bros. 1 & 3

I was always Luigi and Andrew was always Mario. I died a lot and he carried us to victory, but still I love these two NES greats (more Mario to come)

Mortal Kombat 2

A Button mashing game at its finest. I would just nut punch my opponents with Johnny Cage then hit them with the friendship because I didn’t (and still don't) know any of the Fatality moves. 

Super Smash Brothers Melee.

I mentioned it above. I am not very good, but if I hit you with that number 9 with Mr. Game and Watch after an assault of sausage I will send you flying into the abyss.  

Super Mario World

Once again I was always Luigi and either Andrew or Yesabel was Mario, once again I died a lot and they carried the team. Yesabel was freakishly good at this game, I wonder if she still has it? I should get it for her and her fiancé Nick for a wedding present.  *strokes beard*

Mario Kart 64

Another game involving that Italian plumber from Japan, but you cannot deny the endless fun involved and now since we are grownups we can play Beerio Kart!!!

NBA Hang Time

Made by the same folks as NBA Jam so it had all of the excitement and great sayings as that game but it was paired with the bonus of creating a character with a basketball as a head, so it was always my preferred game. And still reigns as my favorite NBA  video game.

Golden Eye

I was never good at this game and I still suck but it is super fun when you have four guys in a room yelling at each other as they pump each other full of bullets.

Streets of Rage 

This game came on the same cartridge as 5 other games, how fantastic is that? Six awesome games for the price of one! They would never do that shit now. Minus the fact I always use my special early in a level because I have big thumbs I am actually pretty good at this game . . . still not as good as Andrew, so he usually carried the team once again.

Sonic 2

The best Sonic game (and when you stuck this cartridge into the sonic and Knuckles game you can play through Sonic 2 as Knuckles and discover secret shit, god Sega was the greatest), I don’t know if I ever actually defeated Dr. Robotinic in the final level, I should go downstairs and try. I am sure Andrew beat hi, fucking asshole.

That is enough of a list for now, but trust me there are so many more great games like Boogerman, Aladdin, Lion King, Beavis and Butt Head, GTA San Andreas, Ninja Turtles, Borderlands, the original Medal of Honor, and the aforementioned Golden Axe. I would be here all day listing games so I won’t do that. Maybe I’ll have another post in the future with more games, but for now I shall spare you.

Updating an Update

Remember that time nearly two weeks ago where I said I was going to try and get more writing done? Yeah that time, well apparently I am a big fat liar because I ain’t done shit. 

Let the tears go, buck up I have a really good excuse. I have a really good reason I swear. My dog ate my homework. I lost the text book. I swear the check is in the mail.

You buy any of those? No, I didn’t think so. Well, I want to give my sincere apologize (mainly to myself for the inability to get my shit together).The real reason is that I have been working a lot of overtime hours to try and stop myself from being poor and save for three upcoming weddings, two of which require travel to another state (and both of those out of state weddings a are the same damn week.)

I don’t stress about money because I always manage to find a way to pay my bills and save the money I need, but I really need to book a plane ticket soon for one of the three weddings before they start to jack up the prices. It is times like this I wish I had a better paying job, or I didn’t of student debt, or that my parents were wealthy. But that isn’t the way the cookie crumbled for me I need to work hard like most of the world; thankfully my parents raised me to be a hard worked. I just wish I had a better job to go and earn money at, hopefully by the end of the summer I will find something. If any of you readers out there know of any one hiring positions that need to be filled with awesomeness let me know.

I have other reasons besides working extra hours for my absence, though all those extra hours and my soul sucking job drain almost all of my creative mojo, and leave e exhausted. I have also been busy doing things, nothing exciting, but my two days off Friday and Saturday have been booked these last few weeks.

It was my older brother’s 30^th birthday so I went out and spent a fun filled evening in Morristown on the 15th.

For those who know me well, know how much I despise Mo-Town. It is full of obnoxious people doing obnoxious things while obnoxiously loud music plays. But I would rather suffer than miss an outing for a sibling’s birthday. I guess I really can’t complain, though it was loud and people were annoying I didn’t have to pay for a single beer, which was nice. It seems to be whenever I go out with my family I never pay for drinks, mainly because my sister’s boyfriend (he should propose soon so I can say fiancé or husband, what are you waiting for man?) always buys me beer because he is a generous guy like that.

The following Sunday I went and supported my lovely friend Alyssa who was running in a half marathon in the Mo-Town area. I used a PTO day, woke up bright and early and waited in the humidity so me and two other friends could cheer and support her. We also made the best sign that was there, but since I do not have the photo you can go look at it on her blog by clicking on this link right here: http://alyssagoesbang.blogspot.com/2015/05/its-bird-its-plane.html. The words were my doing, the execution was not. But who wouldn't want to see my face and that sweet sign after running over 13 miles? My beard provided the extra boost she needed to cross the finish line, or, more likely, it was the thought of the diner we went to after.

I’m off on Saturdays too, but the mornings are dedicated to playing roller hockey and the nights have been BBQs with friends. Not to mention all of the playoff hockey and playoff basketball going on. I can’t peel myself from some of these games to write. And my Mets are finally playing well (hopefully it can last, they need to make a trade for a bat, but that’s a discussion for another time.)

On top of all of that fun toss in a few hours here and there watching Spongebob with my favorite little man, I end up neglecting my writing.

I swear little man I will have my children s book done soon. Who wants to illustrate for me?

What I gave you a bunch of excuses all reason why I am a slacking lying sack of meat, but hey I took time to write this update of an update so that counts for something right?

Oh, OK. Well hopefully I'll be here Thursday with another Throwback Thursday post, maybe. Don't hold me to that, because you know. . . overtime and the playoffs.

Title TBA

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 6, Part 7

Part V

            I walked down the block trying to figure out where to go next. My first thought was to stop at the casino Kathy worked in and ran. She seemed to be a main cog in the shit I had been dealing with so I figured I find her I find the problem, though I was a little terrified about going there because if she is being used to threaten people Kathy may be higher up in the family than just a spy sent to steal files.

I stopped near the alleyway where the entrance for the casino was. There was not a doubt in my mind that the employees would have been told to keep an eye out for me, so I decided against going in that night. I needed to drop of the money off home and come back the next day after I had a chance to clear my head.

Something seemed off as the cab pulled up in front of my building. The hoodlums who normally hung outside slinging whatever drugs they could were not standing on the building steps. In their place was a tall wop looking goon in a leather jacket. I told the cabbie to pull up the block a little further before letting me out.

I pulled out the Walther PPK and held it in my right hand while I still carried the briefcase of money in my left. I walked around to the back of the building and headed down the basement steps and into the laundry room. I scanned the basement to make sure it was empty before I stashed the briefcase of money behind one of the washers before I walked upstairs to my apartment.

I paused at the top step and saw another leather jacketed thug standing guard outside of my door. I lifted my right arm and dropped him with a silenced shot. I continued to the front door of my place. I re-holstered the PPK, picked up the goon’s semi automatic 9mm two-tone Beretta, and pushed his body from the entrance with my foot. I slowly entered.

A goon sitting on my couch turned to face the doorway as I walked in, he lifted his silenced Tec-9, but before he could pull the trigger I put a bullet through his skull. He slumped forward; his brain further ruined my already shitty sofa. In one day I was down a couch and a jacket: thank god I had that briefcase of cash hidden downstairs. Before I could take another step bullets began flying at me from the kitchen, I ducked back into the hallway as gunshots followed me. I waited for a pause in the fire and turned in and shot out the leg of a lanky greased hair enforcer. He shot back at me and I felt a warm blood running down my side. Another shot from the Berretta knocked him back into by bedroom. I dropped to the ground in pain. I took a minute to regain some sort of strength before I picked up the Tec-9 dropped by the dead man on the couch.

Another round of shots whizzed past my head. I lifted the Tec-9 and emptied the clip toward my bedroom. I dropped the Tec-9 and pulled out my snub nose and walked with caution through the living room toward the bullet ridden hallway.

I turned into my bedroom where a partially alive man twitched in a pool of blood on the floor. He was about to be as dead as the cow that was used to make his leather jacket. I squatted down to him. I didn’t have too much time before the police showed up and I needed to move my weapons and take care of the place, so I got right to it.

“Who is the new godfather?”

“Vai all'inferno,” he shouted as he spit blood at my face.

“What the fuck is it with you goombahs and spitting at me?” I wiped his blood off my face. “I’ll ask again,” I started to get angry, “which of Devoni’s rat sons is the new leader of you fucking guinea pigs?”

“Non potrò mai dire.”

“Jesus Christ I don’t speak wop. Can you speak English you dumb fuck!”

“Vaffanculo,” his left hand struggled to lift his gun, but I lifted mine first and blew a hole through his face adding brain matter and skull fragments to the pooled blood.

 I re-holstered my gun and checked my own wound that leaked my insides. I ran to my drawer and grabbed a shirt and wrapped it around my stomach to put pressure on the wound. I pulled a large duffle bag from m closet and went into the living room. I threw the dead wop off of my couch, tossed back the couch cushions, and loaded the duffle bag full of my weapon cache making sure not to leave behind a single bullet. I could hear the footsteps of someone as they ran up the stairs. I waited with my gun pointed at the door for him to enter. The footsteps slowed and I saw the tip of a man’s nose and the tip of the barrel of their gun as they entered the doorway. I shot the nose clean off of his greasy face.

I finished emptying my couch. The last item I pulled out was a small amount of C-4 I had saved for just such an occasion. I set it up with a remote detonator I could trigger when I was a safe distance away. One benefit of living in such a shithole was that there was no lease, and I was able to pay my rent in cash without giving a real name.

I walked into my rundown kitchen, turned on the gas stove, and placed the c-4 on the counter. I grabbed the duffle bag and headed down the stairs making sure to put the noseless Devoni thug out of his misery on my way out. I headed back through the laundry room, grabbed my money, and left out back door. I could hear the faint sound of police sirens in the distance: another benefit of living in a shithole ghetto is that the police response was slow.

I cut through a parking lot of another complex and triggered the C-4. I turned to watch as the entire brick wall outside of my former residence blew out and fell to the grass below. As the adrenaline of the gunfight began to wear off I started to feel the pain of the bullet hole. I rushed to the street and hailed a cab.

The cab pulled in front of Mulligan’s I grabbed my stuff and entered the bar.

People lined up along the bar drinking and laughing being served by one of the bartenders. The tables were dotted with people enjoying a late dinner, but Pat was nowhere in sight. I walked to the back corner of the bar to his office. I knocked and Pat let me in.

“Ah, ya back,” he looked the blood leaking through my jacket, “You’re all in flitters boy-o. Sit down.” He guided me into his chair and left the office. I put my luggage down and pulled off my jacket. The blood had soaked all the way through the make shift tourniquet and my shirt. I placed my hand on the wound to feel where it the bullet entered then checked for an exit point: there was none; the bullet was still lodged in my side.

Pat came back in with a whiskey bottle and two glasses. He poured us each a glass and put the whiskey down, he handed me a glass and picked up a phone on his desk. 

“Ay, its Patty, I need ya down at the pub.” He paused while the person on the other line spoke. “No, a friend of mine.”

He hung up the phone. He took the empty glass from my hand and grabbed me by my arm and pulled me to my feet. I stumbled and propped myself up on Pat’s desk. The loss of all the alcohol thinned blood finally had caught up to me. Pat placed my jacket over my shoulders.   

“What’s in the luggage laddie?

“Guns and money; I had to get out.” I coughed with each word.

Pat picked up the briefcase and duffle bag locked it a way in his large safe. He then grabbed me by arm and guided me through the restaurant past all the customers to a back room that led to a staircase

At the top of the staircase was a large steel door, he opened it a lead me into his apartment. The place was a simple and serious as Pat. A plain tan love-seat was situated in front of a small 15 inch TV set placed under a window that looked out over the street below. A coffee table littered with horse racing programs sat between them. The walls of the apartment were bare. A closed door on the far right of the living room led to his bedroom. He guided me to the kitchen and had me lay on the kitchen table. I stared up at the ceiling as Pat went into the kitchen. The ceiling fan whirled as the room spun around it as everything faded to black.

A loud bang at the door echoed off the brick walls as I drifted away.

Re-Focusing

I started this year off with a fury and in the first few months I posted (and wrote) more than I had previously. I’m trying my damndest to make something of myself using these words. I typed and scribbled in my notebook turning my ideas and dreams into stories for you to read. I was putting in work as the kids would say, but recently I have not been doing anything. We in the industry call it writers block, and it is a bitch. 

actual selfie of me at my computer #nofilter

                 My morning routine is to wake up, start my coffee, shower, drink my coffee and write. Whether I write one paragraph or an entire piece depends, but I always write. Though lately it has been more of me getting up and staring at the blinking vertical line in a word document and then saying “fuck it” and click around the internet until I realize I haven’t accomplished anything and now I have to go to work.  

                I have ideas, I always have ideas, but my execution isn’t there. I can’t really figure it out. I just haven’t been myself these last few weeks. It could be the fact that work is getting to me and I need a vacation or a new one. It could be I haven’t been eating as much lately and the lack of proper nutrition is making me all loopy. Maybe my bar closing has made me sad. Maybe because I doubt I’ll see the awesome bartender from said bar anytime in the near future. Maybe it’s the fact that I didn’t get her number. Maybe it is the fact that it is spring and I want to be outside all day like I’m a kid again. Maybe it is the fact that my place looks like a war zone and I haven’t been motivated to clean it lately. Maybe it is because I haven’t been reading as much as of late. Maybe I'm always angry because I cant see my forehead. Maybe it has been the constant doubt of my writing ability. Maybe I need to poop. Maybe it is my budding rap and country careers (albums coming bitches . . . not really, but maybe). Maybe it is because I can never sleep.

Maybe it is just a combination of all these things bouncing around in my head all day keeping me unfocused. It is most likely the first thing on that list. Whenever work starts eating at my nerves I always tail off with my creativity it has been like this as long as I have been writing. The worst part about work is the struggle to apply for new jobs and never hearing back for them.

I need to just tell myself over and over that I will find something else sooner than later and bring my focus back to my writing and get back to my grind that I was on for the first three and a half months of the year.

I finally finished Part 5 of my untitled story (though I have a title, you don’t know it yet) which for some reason took me longer than any other part yet it is the shortest. Maybe that being out of the way will help me relax. That will be the next post after this one so look for it, and look for a constant stream of material after as I try to refocus myself and get back to doing what I love to do.

Fight Night

Saturday’s bout between Floyd Mayweather and Manny Pacquiao was something more than just a boxing match, though it was a superb fight as Floyd's defensive work picked apart and overmatched Manny. for those whining that Mayweather just ran and didn’t do anything just remember he landed more punches and a higher percentage. Manny couldn't touch him, he was too slow. Anyone who thought this fight would be any different is a moron and has never watched either of these two in the ring. This super fight also brought to light the seriousness of domestic violence. Floyd's history of DV was flushed out by reporters doing their jobs, though most people knew his past well in advance some didn't.

Interviews with Mayweather were hard to come by because he didn't want to discuss his past, but that did not stop premiere sports journalists from talking about it led by Rachel Nichols, Michelle Beadle (both of whom had their press credentials for the fights revoked because of their stance against Mayweather), and Cari Champion who wrote a wonderful article about being stuck in the middle of it all. The worst part about this is these journalists were repeatedly attacked over twitter for their stance against domestic violence. Yeah, people were trying to defend Mayweather’s character and attacked those who were not going to sit around and pretend like he never hit a woman.

This is what drives me bonkers. As a boxer Mayweather is one of the greatest of all time and in the ring he is a genius who I love to watch him pick apart his opponents with perfection unseen in most fighters, but outside of the ring he is an serial abuser of women and it needed to be brought to the public’s attention during this momentous occasion and that is what these journalist did. It is a sad time when idiots can attack a reporter for doing their job and reporting the facts. I wish those people luck in their moronic lives: actually I don’t. I cannot be a supporter of your idiocy.Since this fight was so huge many non-boxing fans picked or routed for Manny to win because of Floyd's past as an abuser (though anyone familiar with these two in the ring would know that would never happen), but do they know Manny’s history? It was not brought up as often because he was painted as a god fearing humble great man.

Manny may have never been arrested for hitting a woman, but he is a Filipino congressman with influence throughout that nation. He is treated as a god and he has highly bigoted points of view that are is not in line with any women's or gay rights. Here is a person with not only a social influence, but one with political power. This is well documented all you would have to do is Google it, but since you are lazy here is a great article written by Diana Moskovitz over on Deadspin with links to all of her hard work and research.

People listen to him, they respect him so when he speaks his bigoted ways against our fellow brothers and sisters telling them what they have the right to do or not do it makes him no better than Floyd. Floyd has no influence in government he will always be looked at as an abuser which he deserves and the punishment for him was not severe enough nor is it ever in cases of domestic violence.

Obviously what Floyd has done is much worse than Manny it does not allow me to see past his bigoted Christian views and root for him. He is not a good man and the media needed to bring this to light. It was a chance to bring women's rights to the forefront and demand the changes worldwide that we should already have, but they failed miserably because it was easier to pick apart Floyd because his past blatant and disgusting but denying rights to others because your religion says it's not right is just as disgusting in my mind.

On both fronts most journalists and the media failed. Yes we talked about one man’s history of domestic abuse, but did we really talk about the issues as a whole? Did we bring attention to the organizations that spend time to assist victims of domestic violence? This was the opportunity to assist them with raising money to continue their efforts, but they didn't (oh, I’m sure somewhere they tried, but I didn’t see anything). On the other side this was a chance to have women's basic rights that are shut down by religious groups around the world addressed, but no one said anything because what sells more tickets than good vs. evil? They needed one of these people to look evil to the public and it's easier to paint Manny as good so we all but ignored his bigotry.
I paid for the fight because I am a fan of the sport and enjoy the strategy of the sweet science, but I hate both of these boxers characters and their treatment of women and the gay community. I wish only we as a society would see that things need to change and we all should be equal.
These men should not be looked at heroes they nor should they be praised. The ones that should be praised is the hard working journalists who tried to have their voices and the facts be heard. I only wish more was accomplished. Just remember celebrities are not role models, role models are those in the community working hard to bring attention the problems we have a society and working for change.

Let us hope we learn and grow and when my children grow older men and women: gays and straights are all treated equal in the eyes of the law and that we stop worshiping celebrities for being famous . . .  unless one day i become famous, you are more than welcome to worship me, I’m awesome.



Here is a link to one of those centers aiding people affected by domestic violence, a place where my roommate works, http://www.dasacc.org/. Support them or any of your local organizations. Also remember to tell your local politicians that women have rights, and vote out anyone who does not support their right to have control over their own bodies.

Unedited and confusing rant over. I'm out.

Under the Willow

I stand waiting for you

under the old willow tree

as its leaves and flowers bloom.

Birds flock around singing their tune

as I stand waiting for you

under the old willow.

The sun shines down as the

blistering heat dries my tongue

and I can no longer sing your name

with the birds fluttering above

as I stand waiting for you

under the old willow.

The tree’s leaves yellow

as a cool wind blows

through its branches.

The dying leaves fall onto me

as I stand waiting for you

under the old willow.

The sky grays as a soft snow falls

and the birds cease singing

flying away until the flowers bloom

leaving me alone in the cold

as I stand waiting for you

under the old willow.

Knowing you will never come

I weep with the willow.