Saturday, October 11, 2008
That is the most butt ugly device I have ever been privy to in my 21yrs of life upon this moist planet. Please tell me some scorn ex-employee decided to get their revenge by allowing this to get out... please let that be the case. That thing looks like a turd the Game Gear shat out. And it is the size of a credit card? Why would I want to do anything on that, you do realize that the iPod Classic is much bigger than a credit card... PSP killer by buttocks! If this is what Sega is cooking up I hope that Nintendo CEO Satoru Iwata, SCEA CEO Jack Tretton, Bill Gates AND Steve Jobs (the all iPods play games better than this would) are having a mighty big laugh while watching SEGA burn themselves to the ground, this is ridiculous.
Ok and while I am on this Razzy Rant, why doesn't Apple just by SEGA? They could make the DS/PSP killer and we all could live happily ever after!
One more thing... Why has Microsoft not come out with a portable yet? For that matter why has Sony refused to allow the PSP to be used as a controller for the PS3? If they did I would walk out of my house right now and plop down the egregious amount of money Sony wants for their sad attempt at innovation. PS3=We want you to buy BluRay... please. Kill me!
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Detroit was a snowy place last Saturday, though it was the warmest night I'd seen. It was lonely I will admit but eventually I came to and was surrounded with costumed villains willing to serve my every passing false hedonistic need. For some reason there are invisible hands fondling me, and through this haze I can barely see. I can see enough to know that I better not touch the floor for fear I many never recover. I came here with somebody, I think.... What is this abhorrent taste trickling slowly lingering down my throat. Where is my shoe. This massive throbbing box is emmitting music that is sonically forcibly raping my ears, and I adore it. Black. Again with the fondling though the hands seem clearer. This is ending soon, I can tell as the music has slowed to a syrupy sultry crawl back to it's source. The well hath run dry and the gate keeps scream billow beckon and yell that the world is coming to an end, nobody seems to listen. The unlikely snow is falling once more as I head wildly north. The storm missed me somehow. As I find warmth is the soft known comforts the life has afforded, I understand and appreciate what is about to happen...