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The Ridiculous Human Being

September 28, 2010

MAN: "I suppose you're expecting an alt text." BOYCHILD: "No sir." MAN: "Stout lad."

Hello. I live here now, having retreated from my previous homestead due to excessive and unwanted search engine action, the nature of which is not suitable for disclosure here. Anyway, here’s a conversation I participated in of late with an IMAGINARY INTERROGATOR.

IMAGINARY INTERROGATOR: Why RIDICULOUS HUMAN, there’s something exciting and wonderful about you these days. Are those new shoes you’re wearing?

RIDICULOUS HUMAN: No, IMAGINARY INTERROGATOR, the excitement, wonder and exciting wonder you’ve sensed emanating from my person are not the product of gleaming footwear. In fact, I’ve worn these exact shoes for over half of one decade, and they remain steadfastly filthy. What is new, however, is this job I’m wearing. No longer a greasy, groany stockroom grunt, I’m now the Deputy Arts Editor at It is now part of my job description to write remarkably silly articles about computerised games and shiny compact discs. Behold the underwhelming splendour of a man slowly approaching his rather unimpressive dream job, my incorporeal chum, for that is the source of my vibrant glow.


So, what exactly does my new position demand of me? Behold – a list.

  • Album and gig reviews
  • Video game reviews
  • Video game news
  • Unflappability and inscrutable verbosity

Now a preview of what untold horrors are to come of this appointment. To begin with, a review of computerised video entertainment module, Just Cause 2.

There’s a wonderful scene in an old episode of the Simpsons, where Homer – having escaped from prison by way of concussive blow to the head of Hans Moleman with a hardback – embarks on a mission of revenge against his former partner-in-crime, Moe. As he barrels speedily through the suburbs aboard a wheeled bookcase liberated from the prison librarian, he repeats the bipolar mantra: “Must… Kill… Moe… Wheeeeeee!”

In a nutshell, that is Just Cause 2.

And also, an album review. In this instance, the Unfortunate Case of the Santana Covers Album.

Allow me to briefly indulge in some history: Santana, now the forename-excising moniker of Carlos Santana, was once the name of his family band, back in the 1950s. Sadly, of that group, Carlos is the only Santana brother still in the music industry. Percussionist/trombonist Tito “El Matador” Santana went on to have a moderately successful career in professional wrestling, before retiring in the mid-90s, and recently being inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame. Meanwhile, insane bassist/xylophonist Tony Santana lives out his days doing sadly misguided Scarface impressions.

Impressed? You won’t be.

And now I shall retire to my bed (which involves moving approximately 14 inches to my right) and enjoy a 14 hour slumber.

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