GAME OVER

Today has been extremely unproductive, so I wouldn't wanna ruin that now. Instead, cleanse your palette and watch 10 of the top videos on Youtube when you type in "funny".

Shenanigans!

LOL!

This one's for you, ConCon.

You may hate soccer, but who doesn't like seeing people fall or get hit in the balls?

Nice work Steve. You bored her to death. Take a picture.

Makes me wanna be on a game show.

OMGZ I SO CUTE I WANT ONE.

BONUHZ!!

PAIN

Just kidding.

-Classic

The Dreaming Wake

Alex woke up. He was gripped with that sense of urgency that often accompanies sudden awakening. What had woken him up? It must have been a dream, but what had the dream been about? He desperately tried to grab at the pieces of memory in his brain and reassemble them into something coherent, but it was too late. The dream, like so many of his dreams these days, was gone forever, scattered to the four corners of his mind.

He looked around blearily, his eyes crusty with sleep. He noticed it was pitch black in his room, except for the dull glow of the clock on the other side of the room. He tried to make out the time. He couldn't. His vision was terrible. "That's what I get for staring at a TV screen for so many hours of my life", he mumbled to himself. There was no light coming through his windows. He reasoned that it must still be very early in the morning.

The silence was broken by the loud rumbling of his stomach. He was extremely hungry. He fought a short battle with himself as to whether to make the effort to go get some food, or just let himself fall back to sleep. In the end, hunger won out, and Alex used all of his willpower to force himself out of the bed. He walked over to the door, his footsteps padded by the shaggy carpet in which he had lost so many small items.

It took him the better part of a minute to wrestle the door open. It had recently taken up the habit of jamming itself in its frame in such a way that it had to be maneuvered just right for it to open. "Stupid door. Dad needs to fix that shit already...", he grumbled. He flicked on the lights so he could see his path to the stairs. The attic was strewn with tools and construction materials, and it wasn't uncommon for them to somehow find a way to trip Alex up. He wished his family would just finish working up there already so he didn't have to wind his way through a veritable obstacle course every time he wanted to go downstairs.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he grabbed the railing and began the trek downwards. Every step he took greeted him with an ungodly loud creaking, which he in turn greeted with a grimace. His parents would give him hell if he woke the baby up again. Good thing her room is right next to the kitchen, he rebutted sarcastically to no one in particular. He did that a lot, he realized. Had simulated arguments in his mind. He often wondered if this was normal. Not that he could help it anyway.

Finally making it to the bottom of the stairs, he opened the door and paused their quietly for a moment. He strained his ears to try and hear if he had woken the baby. Nothing. Relieved, he tip-toed over to the refrigerator. The badly lain tile floor squeaked under his feet. He opened the door to the fridge, the light from within illuminating his face like a flashlight at a so-called-scary campfire story. After rummaging through the fridge's contents for a minute, he emerged with only a yogurt. Figures. Disgusted, he let the fridge door close itself as he walked over to the cabinet to try his luck there. But as he reached up to open it, he heard a noise.

It was a thudding noise, and it had come from one of the bedrooms. Had Zooey fallen out of her bed? But then, why wasn't she crying? Alex began to move slowly down the hallway to the first room. Every step he took was agonizingly loud, despite his best efforts at stealth. He gently pushed open the door to Zooey's room. It was never completely closed. He peeked his head inside. Her bed was empty. Maybe she was sleeping with his parents? He made his way down the hall to his parent's room. Again, he peeked his head inside, and again he was greeted by an empty bed. What the hell was going on? Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, he noticed it read "21:37". Since when did his parents put their clock in army time? And wouldn't that make it 9:37? Dismissing it as obviously the wrong time, Alex moved back into the hallway.

He was starting to get uneasy now. If his brother Cid wasn't in his room, Alex was already resolved to panic. About halfway down the hall, Alex dropped the yogurt he had still been holding. It hit the ground with a clatter, and he could not suppress a silent, "Dammit!" But then he noticed that the yogurt was rolling off to the left. What the hell? Since when was this hallway so slanted? The yogurt rolled into the bathroom, and Alex pursued.

The bathroom was completely empty. There was so sink, no toilet, no shower. The walls were white, the  floors were spotless. He knew his parents were in the process of remodeling, but there was no way they had done this since he had seen it last night. He scanned the room again. No yogurt. He could have sworn he saw it roll in here. What the hell was going on?

Freaked out now, Alex lost all pretenses of stealth. He sprinted to Cid's room and threw the door open. No Cid. He rushed to the living room. Empty. The TV was on and a fire crackled in the fireplace, but there was no one to be found. He only took a moment to note the bizarreness of a fire in June, then dismissed it and dashed upstairs. Julie's room was the only one he hadn't checked yet. He threw open the door, not even expecting to find anyone at this point. And his suspicions were correct.

Sheer panic had gripped him. He ran to his room to grab his cell phone. He would call the police. They would help him find his family. He fought the door open and froze.

What he saw horrified him. He stood there and stared for what seemed like an eternity. He opened and closed his mouth, but no words would come out. Sweat ran down his face. His eyes were unblinking, locked on his bed.

For there lay Alex, sound asleep.

He was riveted to the spot where he stood, his mind racing. Was he insane? Or was he just dreaming? He pinched himself. The pain certainly felt real. What was he supposed to do?

But before he had time to dwell on it long, the person in the bed, Alex, himself, whoever the hell it was, started to stir. The Alex in the doorway wanted to run, but he couldn't. His mind was screaming at him to get out of there, but his body wouldn't budge. The stirring got louder. The covers fell to the floor. The figure began to sit up. Its head turned toward him.

And then Alex woke up.

-Classic

Zombie Snowpocalypse Balboa

It was dusk as the crew rolled into Zombana, there clothes tattered and matted with blood. Not their blood of course. The blood of countless zombies that had been laid to waste for standing in their way. Brendan was shirtless; a bandana wrapped around his head. His face was covered in soot and ash from all the stuff he had blown up, just for fun. He carried a massive machine gun attached to a strap thrown over his shoulder to support what would otherwise be the unbearable weight of his instrument of death. Mada was also shirtless because her name spelled backwards is Adam and guys don't need shirts. Plus, she looked real good in that new bra she had bought from the Victoria's Secret across from the Babycrombie she worked at in the mall. That had been just two weeks ago, before all this chaos had been unleashed, but it seemed like another lifetime. Eliot skipped along next to her, desperately attempting to hold her hand without making it weird. He was wearing Birkenstocks and his Green Bay shorts, and, of course, no shirt.

It was freezing out, they all knew, but when you're in college you sometimes have to sacrifice comfort and logic in order to look your best. And these three were no exception to the rule. Eliot had even gone so far as to draw a 6-pack on his abdomen with Sharpie. Needless to say the lady zombies had been all over him since they had started their journey, and the guy zombies had all been trying to kill him out of what he deemed must be sheer jealous rage. What assholes.

"Well," said Brendan, finally breaking the silence. "We're here at last..." (Brendan had grown rather quiet and somber since being forced to kill the zombified Dolores O'Riordan along the way).

Eliot, ever the voice of reason, asked "So what do we now? I guess we should really have come up with a game plan before getting here..."

"Well, you guys are boring. I'm gonna go back to my room and watch a movie or something. See ya later, fellas," drawled Mada in an inexplicable southern twang.

The boys, after exchanging a look of confusion and utter defeat, scrambled to catch up with her. Even though she was walking, it took them like 5 minutes to finally reunite with her, due to her crazy and superhuman agility. "Woah, I didn't say you guys were allowed to join me, but whatever. My room is right around the corner," said Mada.

Several minutes later they were at the front door of the building. "AW SHIT. I forgot my keycard!" Mada exclaimed. But before she had even finished her sexy whining, Brendan had shock-and-awed the door off its hinges with one badass kick. After taking a moment to conceal how obviously impressed and turned on she was by this show of alphamaleism, the trio made their way inside and up to Mada's floor. About halfway down the hallway, though, Mada stopped short.

"What is it Mada? What's wrong?!?!" squeaked Eliot nervously.
"Oh nothing. But check this out. This fire alarm case is so fun to play with and when you push it this way -"

The plastic casing that had shielded the fire alarm from unintentionally deployment clattered to the ground, and as she scrambled to pick it up in hopes that nobody would notice her clumsiness (too late), she accidentally set off the fire alarm (how ironic).

"Ah...ah....ah..." stuttered Mada, terror etched on her face. The alarms were blaring. Surely every zombie in a mile radius would hear this... Brendan, quickly coming to the same realization, swept Mada up with one arm and grabbed the baffled Eliot by the scruff with the other, swiftly dragging them to the relative safety of Mada's conveniently unlocked room.

"I don't get it, guys! What's the big deal?" whined Eliot cluelessly.

After barricading the door, Brendan stood stoically in the center of the room, his gun aimed, ready to defend his friends with his life. Several minutes past, the tension palpable. And all the while, Eliot cowered in the corner, whilst Mada bounced on her bed and ran around the room restlessly. And then they heard it. The moaning of zombies. It was distant at first, but grew louder and louder as the horde grew nearer. The door started to shake, and then to splinter. A zombie hand burst through, and then another and another. Brendan opened fire.

The carnage was absolute. Zombie parts flew in all directions as the guerilla warrior unflinchingly mowed them down. Rank after rank of zombie fell, and it was starting to look like they may win this one after all. Brendan allowed himself a small, rare smile. But as if that had jinxed them, the sound of bullets thudding into the undead was suddenly replaced by a dull whirring and a click-click-click. He had run out of ammo...

Not knowing what to do now, Brendan began to panic. He threw down the gun that was now all but useless to him. His friends looked to their unspoken leader for advice, but he had none to give. He had failed them. His eyes filled with tears as he slumped against the far wall. This was it. There was nothing he could do.

Then all of a sudden, a noise rang out, and the zombies started to draw away from the door. Brendan couldn't put his finger on it at first. It sounded like...a chain saw! Someone else out there was alive and had come to their rescue! He dared to peek his head out of what remained of the doorway, and what he saw took his breath away/confused the shit out of him. There, in the hallway, an epic battle was being fought. There were four humans. One of them he instantly recognized as Classic Brian himself! In all of his shirtless glory, his ridiculously ripped abdomen was like a beacon of hope to the living. He wore jeans that were ripped and tattered and bright blue shoes that were inexplicably spotless and oh-so-cool looking. He was rocking the most badass pair of Oakley's ever to grace the earth. In his hands was a chain saw, just like Brendan had suspected, and Brian used it like it was an extension of his body. Countless zombies fell before him. Back to back with him fought the most beautiful creature Brendan had ever laid eyes on. She had gorgeous blonde hair and the prettiest face. She carried herself with such elegance and grace, even whilst cutting zombies to shreds with her broadsword. And in the corner, behind all the mayhem, Brendan could just make out who he assumed to be Nick, holding a leash which led to Robert's neck, who was obviously on all fours. Wait, what?!? Weren't they both supposed to be dead or zombified? And why the hell was Robert on a leash?! Over the screaming and the roar of the chain saw's blade, Brendan could swear he heard Nick critiquing Brian's form.

When the violence had ended, Brendan, Eliot, and Mada sheepishly emerged from the room.

"You got some splainin' to do, Brian!" Mada called out diplomatically.

The two saviors and their followers approached the timid trio with a swagger that could only be described as notoriously fly. Then all of a sudden, Mada squealed and nearly fainted, and Eliot let out a "NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!" They had realized who the mysterious and sexy warrior was. It was Semas Ailuj.

"Isn't she pretty, guys?" inquired Brian cooly between making out with her and yanking Robert's leash. "I found her on Green street. She took out the entire Pike pledge class. It was incredible. Now we're in love."

Mada glowered with envy whilst Eliot was torn between objecting to this latest development and comforting Mada with what he knew to be half-assed lies about how she was better than Semas Ailuj could ever be. He went with the latter, but was instantly shot down by Mada's untrusting rage.

"Ok, that's great," Brendan interjected. "Now please explain the whole Robert and Nick thing to me."

"Oh right. Well that's simple enough. When you guys left us to our meaningless sacrifice so that you could escape, we easily defeated the zombies and discovered Nick was very much alive and pretty pissed at us for ditching him. It turns out he can't die or be zombified because he's a mean robot. They aren't susceptible to either of those things. And as for Robert, he had obviously lost his mind to spite and gone psycho, but I didn't wanna kill him. He is my friend after all. So I just put him on this chain and brought him with. He's been really cooperative about it, strangely enough. I think it's because he knows I expected him not to be."

The group eyed Robert with some concern.

"Ok then...guess we should get goi-"

But before Eliot could finish that sentence, Robert had pulled out a knife and go-to-sleeped him for real, right in the neck, to death, just like he promised he would if he ever went psycho. Committed to the end. The group stood there, mouths agape, speechless.

-Classic

Retort

Did you guys read that last post? PFFFFFT. WTF is that shit?!?! I'm funna go Schribnizzzzzz on his ass! And he gives me shit for being apologetic? That guy... Well I for one AM NOT SORRY! HAHA! But on a more real note, I'm honestly not sorry for playing the game. I see where ConCon is coming from with his post, but he doesn't have the right to apologize for me (no offense). I love that the game is "self-indulgent" because that's what friends are all about; you share things with them that you don't share with other people.

This is a lot of who we are as a group of friends. Our humor is a huge part of who we are, or at least right now, and so if people are repelled by that, then they weren't meant to be my friend at this time anyway because that's just how I am. You can't accommodate everyone in life. There will always, ALWAYS be someone out there who dislikes you for whatever reason. It's not your responsibility to appease them. We're meant to live our lives in the way that makes us happiest. That's not to say that we should be selfish and disregard the feelings of others, but we shouldn't be socially required to change in order to try and make the most people approve of us.

If people think I'm an asshole for my views, that's too bad. I wish it weren't so, but it doesn't bother me. The people I want to like me like me for the most part, and that's all I need. I know the game isn't a great spectator sport, but people know what they're in for when they spectate, and if they didn't like it, they wouldn't participate. It's not like they're shunned or made fun of for not being in on it. Whilst referring to this matter, Conor said "That's not what we want. This is not intended, and we never really noticed this. We just love joking around with each other. We're having fun." Yeah, we are having fun. We have a LOT of fun with it. And as far as I'm concerned, that's exactly what I want. That's why I do it. The game has gone exactly as intended in my book. Of course I've noticed that we somewhat exclude other people with it, but every group of friends does that to some degree. I don't feel that that makes us bad people, and I'm sorry if other people don't feel the same.

And Conor, despite the first couple joking sentences, this post is absolutely not a shot at you. I'm just stating my opposing view on the subject.

-Classic

Just give up now, I'll never love you back.

Just twenty minutes or so ago, I was invited by Mada Larson, fellow CB writer, to come "kick a soccer ball in the quad" with her and a couple other people.

In honor of me flatly denying her offer, I have decided to write today about why soccer sucks and America will never like it.

Bend it like Beckham. What does that even mean? Jesus, that sounds like a sexual innuendo. Well it turns out there's this guy David Beckham who kicks the ball so well that he can put spin on it causing it to bend. Nifty. Except he is no longer the greatest soccer player in the world, Ronaldhino is. Or wait no, it's Ronaldo now. Cristiano Ronaldo. No I mean Lionel Messi. Err, Wayne Rooney? No he's not that good. Uhm now it's Kaka? Oh wait no I remember the World Cup, it's David Villa. Whew. Glad we got that settled. Anyway. Before you make a sports cliche and turn it into some stupid ass movie, you should probably verify that you are using the end-all be-all best player in that sport. It seems like every two weeks soccer has a new "best player ever".

It's probably because that's how often anyone ever scores in soccer. If you score you are the new best player in the world because no one ever scores, thus making your feat impressive. I mean, they make the field three miles long and two blocks wide so that there's only like six shots total in a game. Only two of which are even on goal and at least one of those is right to the goalie, so he only has to make one play a game to get a shutout. Okay, that was an exaggeration, but not a grand one. You can watch a half hour of soccer without anyone getting a decent shot off. That's why football fields are only 100 yards long, so people can traverse them with ease. Soccer (which you bet your ass I am not calling football or futbol, despite the obvious nomenclature sense it makes) fields dwarf the action by being so grand in scale, it really takes away from the viewing experience. I understand that that's just how big the fields are. I'm not asking soccer to change, I'm just asking soccer not to wonder why I don't like it. Because it's boring.

I will give soccer credit for this, there is always something going on. The action doesn't break three times for quarters and a million more for commercials. Games take two hours, not three and a half. Now I will take away credit for this. STOP THE CLOCK. Extra time is a stupid concept and one that dates back before humans were smart enough to be able perceive, learn, and practice rules. It's all approximation and you never know when the game is going to end. It just randomly decides to stop based on how tired the official's feet are.

Speaking of officials, soccer refs must have a shitty job. Because soccer players are bastards. Watching the World Cup where the stakes, and therefore reasons to cheat, are high, I get so fucking annoyed by soccer players getting brushed by opponents then doing six frontflips before landing on their backs and acting like they've been stabbed while witnessing their spouse get murdered. I realize you get more calls that way, and that works for the team. I get it. Doesn't mean you aren't a stupid asshole who I should make fun of, soccer fairy. You have to do what you have to do to get the call, but you could just be a man and do your best to play the games and trust the officials not to miss any blatant calls. Which is a hairy situation in itself. I'm not asking you to turn down the option to get calls that are rightfully yours, soccer players, I'm just saying I think you're worse people for doing so and I hate watching you disgrace competition by acting like you've been shot when really you've received an incidental elbow to the rib.

Soccer is so boring I just fell asleep for two and a half hours while trying to think of a fifth body paragraph. I can't make this stuff up. Furthermore, the best soccer isn't in America. It's just, like, not on television here. You know what is? The worst soccer. "Major League Soccer". That just sounds like a league that's trying too hard not to be bad. And they are trying hard, but not hard enough. You can't say that you've improved as a league after two big name players join, especially if they're on the same team. The fact is, America wants to like soccer. We feel bad, stupid even. We realize the world doesn't get why we don't get it. But, fuckin', we don't. It's stupid. It's slow. It's cool in forty second increments. But those increments are just too few and far between for it to make it as a major sport in this country. The English Premier League is the best league in soccer, and we don't get the full coverage on that league. We get World Cup coverage, which is so fun for a change, but it contradicts the EPL and MLS by establishing mental connections between players on national teams, when really, their allegiance is to another group out of a mixed international bag. In basketball, we cross-reference our knowledge of players with their NBA team. The best are all there, no doubt about it. It makes liking world basketball easy to do while maintaining an interest in the NBA. With soccer players gaining so much exposure from one aspect and so little from another, Americans will not identify with the EPL when they do start to play it in America. The soccer we see here in America is just not adequate.

That same lack of consistent excitement is the reason that baseball is plummeting in ratings and hockey is thriving in the HD era. HD in hockey=you can see the puck. HD in baseball=you can see the pitcher's nosehairs as he picks it in between pitches. I think after hockey took a timeout, made its rules better, and got back in the game, American sports fans embraced the fact that they literally just changed their sport all for the sake of our enjoyment. That shit gets our attention. Baseball is in dire need of an overhaul. The season needs to be shorter, that's basically the only problem it's having. Fortunately (you'll see in a second...) for us, baseball is by far the stingiest sport ever in terms of tradition and would rather be watched by 19 die-hard fans than change for the good of everybody (...that I was being sarcastic when I said "fortunately"!!!!!). So whatever. Have fun being liked less than hockey, baseball.

Soccer, I'm sorry. It's not you. Clearly. Look at how much everyone else loves you. However, I think your reign at the top of the international sports world is not forever. At first they'll see basketball and think "too much scoring" and football they'll think "those guys are too big. there's too much stopping" (which by the way, no there isn't. Football is like baseball with a purpose. They stop after every play. Big whoop. It's a tactical game. It's beautiful.), but they'll eventually embrace it. Because those sports are exciting heart-pounding and easy to understand like soccer is. So enjoy it while you can, soccer, but just know that I think you suck.

Unless it's the World Cup. Then I'll watch.

--Eliot Sill

My Library

Don't worry. This post isn't about books. That's Brendan's thing. This is about something much, much cooler. VIDEO GAMES.

Video games are sexy as hell. I adore them. They are always there for you. When your friends are assholes and they have class or homework or "other plans", video games have your back. They say, "Don't be sad, Brian. We'll cheer you up with hours of mind numbing action and story!" And I say, "Fuck yes, video games! Which one of you wants to be my bitch tonight?" And of course all of them are always willing, because I'm a baller like that. But I have standards. So I insist upon choosing the best.

Let's go ahead and define "the best". There are basically two types of video games to me: old school (CLASSIC) and modern (Warfare 2). Here are the standards by which I judge my audio-visual friends.

1. Look good. I'm shallow.

2. Sound sexy. If I don't like what I hear when you open your mouth, I'm walking away. Don't be whiny and annoyingly repetitive.

3. Have an intriguing story to tell me. I've heard so many stories that at this point, I bore easily. Throw me a plot twist. Interest me, forcryinoutloud!

4. Be consistent. I hate when bitches say one thing at one point in the story, and then just change their minds later and decide something else would work better. Sorry, it's kinda too late.

5. Make sure the gameplay is good. If you don't give me good controls, it's just frustrating. I don't care how hot you are or how fascinating your story was, if you aren't DTF and ready to amaze me with your moves by the time we get back to the bedroom, I'm making you find somewhere else to sleep tonight. Bitch.

6. For all of us who have played games, we know the ending is important. This whole song and dance has been crescendoing up to this one point, this one convergence of the fates. Make my climax feel awesome.

Now I know that the older bitches don't have as much visual appeal as the younger ones, but I forgive them for that, as long as they don't look like complete dog shit. They're old. They looked spectacular in their prime. And they're so knowledgable. They have many stories to tell me about the past. The young ladies have a more obvious appeal, with their stunning good looks and smooth movements. They still weave a good yarn, but most of their stories have already been told.

The above picture is conflicted as to its category, like a water polo player with a good attitude (Jon D.), a bro who hates Natty Light (not sure if these exist in real life...), or a vampire who loves to sunbathe (dead). The Playstation games are screaming nostalgia with their square, easy to break cases and simple but sexy cover art. The PS3 games are all like, "Look at me! I'm so hip and modern with my unusually sized cases and my promises of amazing graphic orgies!" And then there are the PS2 games who, while being a solid middle ground, are not as nostalgic as playstation but not as flashy as PS3. And they're like, "C'mon guys...really? Do we have to fight about this every time we hang out? We're all cool and have our different appeals. Why can't we just get along? We obviously love each other because we spend so much time together."

So I've already shown you a picture of my collection of modern games. It's pretty small. There are like 9 PS3 games. I'm ashamed, but what can I say? I'm not exactly rollin' in the dough, and I had to leave my Wii at home because technically it was my mom's birthday present or something ridiculous like that. However, my collection of old school is muuuuch more extensive, because hey! I'm a classic dude. I have a big box of NES games under my bed. There's am N64 on my shelf sitting next to all the N64, SNES, and Sega games I have. Under that is my NES, which has a Sega resting on top of it's cute little head. Now I'd take a picture of this shelf and post it on here like I did for the Playstation games, but my SNES is currently missing from its spot to the left of the NES (it's in Eliot's room because I'm a negligent father to it as it well knows by now), and I just wouldn't feel right leaving it out like that.

I'm gonna take this opportunity to list some of my favorite games ever just off the top of my head, not necessarily in this order.

1. The Legend of Zelda (NES) - Don't even fuck around with this game. It's undeniably one of the most groundbreaking and entertaining games EVER.

2. Anything with the name Final Fantasy in the title besides FFX-2 (PS, PS2, PS3) - OMGWTFORGASM

3. Fallout 3 (PS3) - This game is about as open as your mom. You can do just about anything in here and the game is alright with that. I love how many hours of fun I can get out of this game without progressing anywhere story-wise.

4. Devil May Cry 3 (PS2) - I am in awe of you. You make being a badass douche look so appealing. The way Dante throws down with demons is just hott.

5. Donkey Kong Country (SNES) - I remember this from my childhood as the one video game I ever played with my mom. I think she was almost as into it as I was. And what's not to love? You get to jump around and go apeshit on everybody and just have your way with the entire jungle. (Dear God I made that pun unintentionally. Fuck you Eliot, what have you made me?)

6. Super Mario EVERYTHING (Nintendo) - Super Mario Bros., Super Mario Bros. 3, Super Mario World , Super Mario 64, Super Mario Galaxy, Super Mario Sports...etc. This is the most versatile badass plumber you will ever see.

7. Ocarina of Time (N64) - This is one of the few games I've ever played through completely and thoroughly multiple times. I enjoyed every single second of it, from throwing Cuccos around to make the bitch of a chicken lady happy again to kicking Ganondorf's ugly ass.

8. Starfox 64 (N64) - Despite how fucking annoying Slippy is ALL THE TIME, this game is one of the most awesome flying shoot 'em ups ever.

9. Pokemon Stadium (N64) - This game is so hilarious to play with friends. I've never not had fun kicking people's asses at this game. I remain undefeated. Challenge me if you dare.

10. Lord of the Rings (PS2, PS3) - I really enjoy all of these games, because they're just fun mindless violence with that system of becoming more powerful as you go that I love.

11. Modern Warfare 2 (PS3) - This game is just a better version of its older brother. It does everything better and its system of challenges, callsigns, emblems, and prestiges is more addicting to me than hard drugs.

12. Super Smash Bros. Brawl (Wii) - Some people think melee is better. I can see where they're coming from, sort of. But I disagree. This game is so fun to play when you're bored with friends. I suck at it but getting my ass kicked has never been more enjoyable.

There are so many more games that I love and could classify as favorites, but this post will never end if I keep trying to think of more, so I'll stop here.

Anyway, that's pretty much the end of my shpeel. If any of you guys wanna come hang out with me and the bitches, let me know. You're welcome pretty much any time, depending on how much I like you. But chances are, if you're reading this, you're probably pretty cool. And you're also probably pretty bored, so there ya go. I just fixed that problem for you twofold.

Oh yeah. All my games are alphabetized. I'm THAT hardcore.

CLASSIC out.

Classic Brian

Five minutes ago, I entrusted Conor O'Brien with the task of providing me an idea to write about. He failed. Good job Conor. I'm going to write about, well Classic Brian.

I came up with that idea all by myself guys!

Classic Brian is an idea that I don't think has often been tried by high school kids. After all, blogging is really lame. I mean, sure, tons of kids our age get the impression that they can write and they have the strict urge to express their ideas. Do they make blogs about it? Do they have the courage to look dumb in front of more than just themselves or their closestest friends? Maybe, who knows. If there are other blogs out there like this, I would like them to be pointed out to me. I'll read 'em. Shit.

Anyway, Classic Brian wasn't my idea. I should have locked the text that I got. It was something I immediately dismissed, but turned into this biz. "Me, you, and Tynan should make a comedy blog and call it Classic Brian." The text was, I begrudgingly admit, from Conor. He thinks he's funny, and he thinks Ty and I make good sidekicks for him. So the next night, at Classic's house, Conor brought up the subject to me. I still was apprehensive, but I had given it thought, and I realized it would be a good opportunity for me to put up words and pretend people are reading them. As for the name, Classic Brian, it stemmed from a Final Fantasy marathon. Brian proclaimed that the left corner of the seat was his entitlement, and that he said it was "classic me." Conor and I didn't let that one by us. Nope. We ran with it. We realllllly ran with it.

So I wavered back and forth and eventually he got me on board. Except it wasn't strictly a comedy blog, I could write about sports if I chose to do so. Also it wasn't going to be me him and Tynan, it was going to be a crew of seven of us. One day of the week each day. We bounced names and came up with a pretty good team. Conor, myself, Classic, Tynan, Nick, Robert and a girl. We tagged Mada, we still don't know why.

We set up an account at Classic's house THAT NIGHT and i contacted everyone and made sure they were down to write. They were. Nifty. I wrote out a mission statement, or as I like to call it, me rambling to see what a blog post actually looks like. It came out pretty decent, and I was excited for the blog. Even if we're the only ones reading it, we unanimously thought, it'll be fun. It's like the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, but different. (Side note: What a stupid stupid concept.) Tynan decided he couldn't think of anything to write about (a problem that seems to be afflicting us all here lately, is college over yet guys? Right? that's what they want, more college. RIGHT?). I stepped in, wrote a weirdly formatted post about myself and skidoops! We were off and running. I called Cory Robinson, whose pen is flyer than a piece of paper bearin' it's name. He accepted the offer and replaced Tynan. As for Ty, he found a sweet gig for himself elsewhere. Which by the way, I command you. If you read this, listen to that. Clustercuss on SLU's radio station. Good music and better DJ's and the best commercials money can buy. (GET IT? THERE ARE NO COMMERCIALS!)

We started posting more, I started pimping it on my Facebook and Twitter, and the weirdest thing happened. People started giving feedback. They referenced specific things I SAID. This HAD to mean they were actually reading the nonsense I was throwing out there. Holy crap. I will not be able to handle being a reporter if that day comes.

Classic Brian has become an interesting haven for people whose thoughts I'm interested in to have their ideas strewn about, like words ripped out of person's diary. Things that we have on our minds and can't stop thinking about, we get to just divulge all that worthless information to this page, and I think that's pretty cool. It certainly isn't a comedy blog, and we do tend to get a little overly sentimental, but it's certainly more than droning on about albums by bands you haven't heard much of mixed with sports updates that don't really matter. It's something interesting, something fresh, something fleshy and real.

I'm really glad we did this. And I hope you are too.

Soon I want to do a guest week. Where we all get a guest writer to throw something down for seven days straight. I've already got a few names in my head, I'll contact you if I want your wordsmanship. If I don't and you feel like writing something for Classic Brian, send me a message on Facebook or something. I'll see what we can do. Unless I don't really like you, in which case, you're probably fucked.

Anyway, I wanted to use this as a kind of thank you to the twenty five or so bored mofo's who take the time out of their day to read this. Every new person that tells me they read blows my mind every time. Be it a lot or a little. It's not huge, but it's still cool to think that you guys give half a shit what I say. Means the world. Well not the world, but probably like the state of Indiana. Which is a lot coming from me, I've never been East of Illinois. (MOM! DAD! THANKS!)

All in all, I had my doubts about this site at first, but I would definitely consider it a success story.

They should make a movie about this or something.

--Eliot Sill

PS. Happy birthday mom. I love you and I miss you!

Hmmm... Time to bring this back.

Okay, so I have to be deadly honest with you. I don't know what to write.

SPORTS!

Football season is coming up right around the damn corner. And I know all of you need a second before you continue reading to go ahead and roll your eyes. But, I don't care. If you don't like it go back to Pitchfork or Facebook or whichever medium you chose to waste your life on today.

Anyway, football season is coming up. And it's a lot different for me this year than everything that I've been used to has been. This whole going to college thing? It lays down a huge effect on my sports fanhood habits.

I'm sure I've mentioned this in previous posts, but I spent every Sunday for the last twelve years of my life watching NFL Sunday, specifically Packer games, with my family. Let me give you the cast and crew of my Sunday afternoon, and no, that does not entail the improv troupe (sorry guys). Me! my dad, my brother Andrew, my brother Peder, my dad's friend Matt, his son Mike, my dad's friend Ted, my brother's friend Nick, my dad's friend's daughter Lindsay, my mom, my mom's friend Jane, chicken wings, brats, beer and Brett Favre. Yeah, it was a frickin' party. We were all Packers fans (this includes chicken wings and beers). We devoted our lives to the rollercoaster that is NFL fanhood. Some of us were much more interested in the actual events than others, but everyone had their reason to be there. Food, family, fun, festivities, football. That's what Sundays truly meant. That and church. Church sucked. Boring and churchy. But after church meant we set up and caught whatever we could of pre-game before camping out at Damon's for the bonanza known as NFL Sunday.

This event has been destroyed to a sad sad degree. This September when the season kicks off and all becomes right with the world once more, my dad and Andrew will meet up with Matt, have some beers, enjoy some appetizers and watch the game (they'll smoke plenty of cigarettes too). Yeah, that sucks for them, but for me, it's worse. I will scramble to find a sports bar showing my Packers game, by myself, then I will have not beer and not cigarettes as my Packers trounce the inexperienced Eagles in an opening week contest. I will pay too much for bad wings and diluted soda, and wonder why a 26-14 win feels so much less satisfying now then it did six years ago.

The family will network their thoughts on the game, and none of it will matter. The game will go on, while some younger family declares it their finest hour. My dad will turn to my brother and say, "I wonder how El's doin..." and my brother will say "he's fine, he's definitely watching this. He's not Peder, he'll find a way to see the damn game." He will be right, but it will still be wrong. There is a sea of students here at the U of I campus, and I'm sure there are at least 2,500 Packers fan friends to be made here. I will find probably 154 of them, and meet six. None of them will be as mad as Andrew is when we run a draw on third and eleven. None of them will as seamlessly alternate between annoyingly optimistic and annoyingly pessimistic like my father. None of them will be as awkward a fan as my mother was (love you mom, but you were ALWAYS either too excited or too distraught by our excitement). None of them will be as much of a goofy turdball as Matt was. Well, maybe they will. The venue will be different, and definitely not Damon's. Damon's was eaten by the tornado of Sunday, March 12, 2005. Damon's had four big screen tv's playing four DIFFERENT games, and plenty of other tv's playing plenty of other games. FUCK YOU BUFFALO WILD WINGS. YOU DO A BAD JOB. Ted and Jane (married) stopped being regulars to our gatherings, which meant we saw their children Nick and Lindsay less. Mike went to college. Peder went to college. My dad divorced my mom, so she stopped being there. Hell, even Brett Favre left us.

Ahhh, wipe your faces kids, it's not all gloom and doom. We all still love the Packers. We just will be doing it this season from different corners of our midwestern universe. Except for Brett Favre. He'll be doing it from the dark side. Asshole. Those days were my introduction to the great game of football. They taught me something that I have yet to learn to teach others: football is and always will be the greatest thing in the world and everything else is just "pretty cool". People don't see the point in sports. It's just dudes doin' stuff. But if you allow for it, there's so much more to it that skyrockets the entertainment value of the games. It's called investing yourself. If you allow yourself to care, that caring will come back to you in a variety of ways in which you aren't ready for. First of all, which is a better conversation starter, music or sports? If you're at Lollapalooza, maybe music. In a real (not dream-fantasy-heaven-awesomeness-IstillamobsessedwithfuckingLollapalooza) setting, it's clearly sports. Try as you might to argue it, it's just fundamentally easier and more engaging. I can walk around school wearing an Arcade Fire t-shirt and six people will instantly become a fan of my personality. However, I can walk around school wearing a Green Bay Packers shirt and twenty five people will give me conversation starting remarks about how either they are as well Packers fans and that it's always good to see other Packer backers out there, or how they think I was raised by idiots because I'm not a Bears fan. The point is, sports are more universalized. They're, in fact, the universalizedest. You have baseball, football and basketball. You can bring any of those subjects up in a conversation with 90% of people you can have at least a two minute conversation about why they don't like the NBA or how they just don't care about baseball anymore. Whatever. You bring up any band in particular, there's like a sixty percent chance you're missing their music tastes. Even then, musical tastes are such random amalgams of bands that there's no way you can go into a conversation expecting to have your music tastes match up perfectly. You can do this easily in sports. If you can do that, you're half friends. Really. It's that easy.

Other than that though, sports has a lot to offer. People seek emotional ecstasy from music, right? Well, I feel a genuine rush of jubilance every time the Packers score a touchdown. Sure, being a sports fan entails a lot of losing and therefore rushes of depression so it kind of balances out. Regardless, I take so much pride in my Packers and will always. The Packers will never dump me. They will never change. They will never make a shitty fourth album. They will never not give me their all. They are the single most dependable entity in my life. They may do shitty, but damn it I know they're trying to make me happy. Also the players are all really cool, regardless of whether they actually are. They're super strong, super quick and they are real people. They are rock stars in their own right.

As for the actual entertainment itself, I guess you just have to know what's going on. If you don't know the rules and regulation to the games, you're basically watching dudes doin' stuff. And really, they're carrying out finely tuned precise plays that are reliant upon each and every individual player. It's cool. Again, FOR YOU MUSIC LOVERS, it'd be like someone not realizing that piano is anything more than throwing your hands at the keys. Oh and did I mention how awesome it is to see people get hit really hard all the time? Yeah it's cool.

Anyway, that was my best attempt. You still won't like sports. But you can't say there's no reason to like them. Everything we do is little more than a waste of time, but that doesn't mean we can't enjoy the shit out of that time we're wasting. So this year, I will be looking for a place to go on Sundays. For the first time ever. I will search, scavenge, network and finally find a place where other like-minded sports nerds congregate to fawn over the athletic display set before them by the idols of their little brothers. Meanwhile, you can go ahead and listen to the Drake album again, to try and convince yourself to like it just a little bit more. I will be basking in the glory that is NFL Sunday, or as I like to call it, the respite that God himself intended us to have on the sabbath.

SPORTS POST!

--Eliot Sill

I'm Fucking Back. Finally.

Stop fucking crying. That means you, Drama Queen and E Silly. I'm back. Let's fucking FFFF asap. Sorry I missed my last post, everyone. I had virtually no access to a computer during my travels. I've been gone too long. Don't get me wrong, I had fun. I got to go to da Joisey Shore and NYC and it was fucking cool. I stopped home for a night and then traveled in completely the other direction and went to Colorado. There i saw the Rocky Mountains, and even camped in them for a night. They were fucking gorgeous. I'm just really glad to be home.

It's been a long 2 weeks. I feel like I haven't seen my friends in forever. I can't wait to just hang out with them again. I also went through a rough patch with my girlfriend, Julia, which we weren't gonna tell anyone about, but somehow everyone knew almost instantly. Never fear though, we're good to go and better than ever cuz she's the best and I can't wait to just hang out with her again. Sorry ladies.

But enough serious shit. I have come to restore a sense of comedy to my blog. Why? Because it's fucking classic, that's why. Robert, I'm fucking cooler than you, despite the fact that I drive a dented silver Ford Taurus and don't walk anywhere. Get over it. Boom! Roasted. Eliot, I could tots stay up later than you if I really wanted. I could also beat you at any sport. Sports! Boom! Roasted. Conor, You break stuff. High five! Band Practice! Boom! Roasted. Mada, theater is lame and is too much effort for the short moments of glory you get out of it. Also, you had your heart broken by Conor. Conor. And my girlfriend is hotter than you so no, I don't wish my girlfriend was hot like you. Boom! Roasted.

Just kidding guys! Mostly.

-Classic Brian

Classic Brian

We're all graduating today (except Robert, but he didn't even really graduate...why are we having our graduation party with him again?). It's really strange because I feel like I've been out of school for a long time already, but it's only been a week. I'm really looking forward to this summer. It's gonna be schweeeeet. I have my trip to New Jersey, my trip to Florida, Lollapalooza, and hardcore FFFFin for about 3 months straight to look forward to.

But back to this graduation business. I'm glad we learned how to walk down an isle this morning. I never knew how to do that before. Totally worth getting up at 8 in the morning for? I think so. Now I'm just sitting here waiting for graduation time so I can hurry up and officially put an end to my high school career. I figure this is a pretty enjoyable way to pass the time. For those of you that I like and may never see again after today's ceremony; it's been real, and I'll genuinely miss you. For those of you that I'm going to college with, let's rock this bitch. That quote was for you, Conor. And Conor, you will get your ass to U of I or Springfield whenever you get a chance and we will FFFF so hard.

Let's all have some fun at grad parties this weekend. Say "Fuck you" to the people who didn't invite you to theirs, then show up anyway. Carrie, sorry I had to leave yours so soon after getting there. I had to get back to my house to prepare for my family's party after graduation today. It was fun for the brief period I was there. Speaking of parties though...come to the party that Conor, Robert, Mada, and I are having tomorrow at Mada's house from 4-8. It's gonna be awesome.

Stay classy, world.

-Classic Brian

Mission Statement

Hey folks, this is a blog. Sorry, we know.

But hopefully you and us can all get past that. We've signed up for this shindig to see what happens. This is a blog hosted by Conor O'Brien, Tynan Shevlin, Mada Larson, Robert Langellier, Eliot Sill, Nicholas Dietrich, and lastly and most importantly Brian Malone. We write to entertain ourselves, and hopefully you too.

The title of the blog is self-explanatory -- Brian Malone is a classic mother fucker. So we write what we think in his honor, to show how much we care about the community. Every time you read our blog, a child in India gets adopted; so CHECK US OUT. Again.

If you noticed, there are seven names that I previously listed. Convenient, seeing as how there are seven days in a week. Each one of us will have something tasty for you to read on each day of the week. So, shit guys, daily updates! (That's the plan.) We're jumping into this face first so, we'll see how it goes.

First legitimate update to be posted tomorrow (JUNE THIRD) by Tynan Shevlin.

It's been real guys. Come back and see us.