Yes, life's perfectly balanced...like every character in GUILTY GEAR. Nothing happens, then everything happens. It either predominantly goes super wrong, or goes super right. This time around everything seems to be going alright. HOWEVER, thanks to GLORIOUS karma (why isn't that spelled with a "c", it makes more sense; "k" makes it look like it's trying to be hardcore), that means that the next time nothing's going on, it will be followed by floods of VOMIT and shit. THAT'S LIFE, FOLKS!
ERNAN CRESPO IS INCREDIBLY BROKEN. He is a fucking menace on every Pro Evolution Soccer game I've played in the last two months (and Viera is the most likely to be injured). I'm not that into football (any Americans reading can screw yourselves with your inverse logic; Americans play FOOTball with their HANDS. LOLWUT?), but I appreciate the video games and I like playing it in real life. One might call me a FREAK for not liking to watch on television, but rather partake in the activity; if you are one of those people, fuck off. It's not even funny. Hang thyself.
Tuesday night was a little mental too (though not in the sense that it was exactly where it needed to be to score a goal). I had the OBLIGATORY couple of pints (if you drink cocktails EXCLUSIVELY you've either just turned 18 and/or you have appalling taste), popped down to McDonalds (in which they game me a fucking cup for buying a large meal. Where do I put a cup on a night out? Idiots). We went back to the pub and found Sykes and Havok (two wrestlers I saw a couple of weeks ago). WHY? They were welcomingly friendly and stayed to chat, but I spent the whole time thinking "WHAT?". Why the fuck were SYKES and FUCKING HAVOK in THE LLOYDS ARMS drinking pints with me and my mate and talking about everything wrestling? It was stupid and AWESOME at the same time and will probably never happen again.
I could chat to my audience of 7 (on a good day) about the MASSIVE FURIOUS FIRE STORM that erupted yesterday between some of my friends, but I don't want to bring my mood down. SCREW YOU JEREMY KYLE! (a more considerate Jerry Springer, for those reading from over seas) Instead, I'm just going to say this: "HOLY SHIT THAT ROCKET LAUNCHER JUST TOOK OUT HALF A SUSPENSION BRIDGE!...FUCKING HELL, IT'S BREAKING AWAY AT THE MIDDLE...GOOD LORD I'M STILL ON THE BRIDGE *girders flying everywhere*...RUN!" That was the scene just prior to Alec Mason plummeting 60ft to the floor off a suspension bridge. Red Faction Guerrilla was excellent while it lasted.
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