(no subject)
Messed around a little bit with Gang Garrison, as a copy of the PC version of TF2 raped my computer yesterday. It went down a little something like this:
Me: :D Bitchin'!
Computer: A...a game...? With a copyright year after 2001? I'll...I'll try my best... :S
TF2: MUAHAHAHA! Guess what time it is, mon cher~
Computer: ...Um...um...2:30?
TF2: WRONG! The time is currently...RAEP O' CLOCK.
Computer: D:
TF2: *raeps computer*
Me: D:
Computer: D:
TF2: Hohohohoho! Until next time, mon cher computer~
Computer: My insides hurt... >;
Anyway, my computer can run Gang Garrison (though, the family's old 1992 V-Tech could probably have run Gang Garrison without a problem), so...I guess I'll play that? The hilarious part is that I'm no better at it than I am at the real game. OH WELLS.
That there's my uncle. Yes, he really does talk like that, though he usually combos such phrases into long, meandering chains of awesome hoodoo-speak. He's a very intelligent man, but, y'know...the 70s.
Anyways, he's had stomach cancer for a couple years, and this week the doctors finally decided they've done all they can and sent him home. Which basically means he's circling the drain. He lives in Montana, and my bronchitis ate up all my personal leave days, so I can't fly out to visit him.
So. Yeah. That pretty much sucks.
Me: :D Bitchin'!
Computer: A...a game...? With a copyright year after 2001? I'll...I'll try my best... :S
TF2: MUAHAHAHA! Guess what time it is, mon cher~
Computer: ...Um...um...2:30?
TF2: WRONG! The time is currently...RAEP O' CLOCK.
Computer: D:
TF2: *raeps computer*
Me: D:
Computer: D:
TF2: Hohohohoho! Until next time, mon cher computer~
Computer: My insides hurt... >;
Anyway, my computer can run Gang Garrison (though, the family's old 1992 V-Tech could probably have run Gang Garrison without a problem), so...I guess I'll play that? The hilarious part is that I'm no better at it than I am at the real game. OH WELLS.
That there's my uncle. Yes, he really does talk like that, though he usually combos such phrases into long, meandering chains of awesome hoodoo-speak. He's a very intelligent man, but, y'know...the 70s.
Anyways, he's had stomach cancer for a couple years, and this week the doctors finally decided they've done all they can and sent him home. Which basically means he's circling the drain. He lives in Montana, and my bronchitis ate up all my personal leave days, so I can't fly out to visit him.
So. Yeah. That pretty much sucks.