hump-catting!
I am convinced that this game is no game; it is the work of the Devil. Activision and Harmonix have attempted to tear our very world asunder -- and they have succeeded. Harry Potter? That is grade school shit. Portal? Forget Portal. This thing, this creature, is itself a portal, and it is a portal to a world rife with unsettling douchiness.
Don't get me wrong. The game itself, a terrifyingly awesome journey through faux-rockstardom, will never cease to get old. I would gladly skip class and pretend to be Slash, and that I have bitches that envy me. Does it matter that I am shredding on a guitar more suited to being a toddler's chew-toy? No. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. You will rock so hard on this game that you will turn to stone.
It is co-op mode, however, where everything falls the ever-loving hell apart.
If you consider yourself to be close with someone -- pals, comrades, or what have you -- then never play Guitar Hero with them. It will ruin your friendship.
Inevitably, someone is going to be better at the game than their fellows -- and then they are going to get haughty and act like a pissant. Perhaps you can't nail the solos as easily as they can, and it feels more like a rabid bear is trying to maul your hand. Or perhaps you wish to take a break between songs while playing co-op, but the Guitar God is demanding that no such break be taken, as it is not the fault of the superior video game but simply the fault of your weak, deformed, gnarled hand, throbbing with the pain of Dragonforce for the fifth time. The tiny colored buttons mock you, mock your inability to get through Raining Blood on Expert without scrimping and saving your Star Power like it is the only thing between you and messy rabid-bear-death.
If such a situation does occur then it is your solemnly sworn task to remove the three-quarters-scale guitar from around your neck, and fucking wail on them with it. It is an axe; it is built for such a purpose, as if the manufacturers foresaw such inexplicable and inexcusable douche-faggery. They deserve it. They are haughty and they are playing the role of the puissant pissant.
Fuck you, Slayer. Fuck you, Metallica. Slash, you are a bastard, and Tom Morello, you are only marginally less of one. I never though I would hate you this much, Tenacious D, but I do. I attempt again and again to get through Cult of Personality on Expert; each time I manage about sixty-five percent of the song before it suddenly sounds like I am playing a kazoo with my dick. Knights of Cydonia? More like Knights of Guitar Hero Ruined My Ability to Interact With People on a Fundamental Level Unless I Am Wielding A Ridiculous And Tiny Guitar.
In conclusion, when the massive, brain-rapingly severe concussion fades, you can claim to have been unselfishly "infusing" them with the "power of rock." It is only right; it is only just.
Don't get me wrong. The game itself, a terrifyingly awesome journey through faux-rockstardom, will never cease to get old. I would gladly skip class and pretend to be Slash, and that I have bitches that envy me. Does it matter that I am shredding on a guitar more suited to being a toddler's chew-toy? No. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. You will rock so hard on this game that you will turn to stone.
It is co-op mode, however, where everything falls the ever-loving hell apart.
If you consider yourself to be close with someone -- pals, comrades, or what have you -- then never play Guitar Hero with them. It will ruin your friendship.
Inevitably, someone is going to be better at the game than their fellows -- and then they are going to get haughty and act like a pissant. Perhaps you can't nail the solos as easily as they can, and it feels more like a rabid bear is trying to maul your hand. Or perhaps you wish to take a break between songs while playing co-op, but the Guitar God is demanding that no such break be taken, as it is not the fault of the superior video game but simply the fault of your weak, deformed, gnarled hand, throbbing with the pain of Dragonforce for the fifth time. The tiny colored buttons mock you, mock your inability to get through Raining Blood on Expert without scrimping and saving your Star Power like it is the only thing between you and messy rabid-bear-death.
If such a situation does occur then it is your solemnly sworn task to remove the three-quarters-scale guitar from around your neck, and fucking wail on them with it. It is an axe; it is built for such a purpose, as if the manufacturers foresaw such inexplicable and inexcusable douche-faggery. They deserve it. They are haughty and they are playing the role of the puissant pissant.
Fuck you, Slayer. Fuck you, Metallica. Slash, you are a bastard, and Tom Morello, you are only marginally less of one. I never though I would hate you this much, Tenacious D, but I do. I attempt again and again to get through Cult of Personality on Expert; each time I manage about sixty-five percent of the song before it suddenly sounds like I am playing a kazoo with my dick. Knights of Cydonia? More like Knights of Guitar Hero Ruined My Ability to Interact With People on a Fundamental Level Unless I Am Wielding A Ridiculous And Tiny Guitar.
In conclusion, when the massive, brain-rapingly severe concussion fades, you can claim to have been unselfishly "infusing" them with the "power of rock." It is only right; it is only just.