This week (and the next several) we have something special in store for you. In the past, Smash has steered clear of continuity aside from recurring characters and running gags; however, we decided to try our hands at a continuing narrative. May I present the Sunday Smash Epic: Final Smash.
This is a story we began work on over six months ago and have continued refining until we felt it was ready to go. The original inspiration came to me when I stepped into the bathroom at work and was immediately slapped in the face with a wave of horrific fecal odor yet again. I wondered to myself what kind of beast could continuously make a bathroom smell that horrible without being caught. It struck me (much like the fecal odor struck my nostrils) that a good ninja commits his dirty deeds done dirt cheap without ever being seen, and so the poop ninjas were born.
The blog is late, and for that I apologize. I was at a LAN party all day yesterday and League of Legends consumed my time. The comic is what I worry about having posted on time, so I’m not terribly upset. Hopefully none of you are either. Have a happy July 4th.
Today’s comic features a valuable lesson: stop leaving emo status updates on Facebook or I will pee on you. There are actually a number of different things people do on Facebook that irritate me. Here are some of the major ones:
Not everything is update worthy. Did you just unload the dishwasher? Did your cat yak on the floor? I don’t care. Don’t burden my newsfeed or my mind with it.
Don’t make comments about how worthless/ugly you are, expecting your friends to fly to your rescue with uplifting comments. If you’re anything like me, about 75% of your Facebook “friends” would be better described as Facebook “acquaintances” or Facebook “dude-I-met-that-one-time-it-was-cool.” That leaves a really great impression with people you barely know.
It’s complicated. It’s really not. You’re not in a relationship. Set your status to single.
This blog is going up Monday instead of Sunday, and for that I apologize. Ranting about Facebook was harder than I thought, but it gives me a chance to deliver the following news. Marc and Kevin made cameos as toys for R.Z. in today’s The Other Grey Meat by our friends Magravan and Skrael. You should check their comic out.
When I’m not spending my time lovingly crafting jpegs out of thin air for the amusement of all, I’m probably at my day job, painstakingly crafting advertisements out of thin air and totally selling out. Due to working for an advertising agency, I have a steadily decreasing interest in marketing news, and I will occasionally read marketing articles. This is the article I read which inspired today’s comic.
The concept of retiring Ronald McDonald is utterly ridiculous. Children being the target market for Happy Meals in no way makes childhood obesity the fault of a corporation. It’s simply lousy parenting.
A vast quantity of products are designed to appeal to children, and their young minds have yet to develop the same defenses many adults have to successful marketing. This is why children have parents to raise them and instill values. Should you touch things that are hot? Should you slap someone when they make you mad? Should you run with scissors? Should you eat a steady diet of burgers, chicken nuggets, and french fries until you resemble Jabba the Hutt? These are all lessons good parents should teach their children. These are all lessons lazy parents believe corporations should teach their children.
Those of you who are good parents could skip the rest of this post, but those of you who are bad parents probably believe you are good parents, so the rest of this blog is now mandatory reading for all of you. In much the same way it is unhealthy for a parent to give a child everything they desire, it’s also unhealthy to give them whatever they desire to eat. If they refuse to eat their lima beans and demand that you give them stroke-inducing fast food for the fourth night this week, let me free you from the bonds of self-inflicted slavery.
Tell them in no uncertain terms “NO,” then when they behave indignantly, you blow their minds and inform them that they are not the center of the universe, you do not take orders from them, and you make them sit in the kitchen with their rapidly cooling dinner while you go watch your stories on the telly. It’s that simple.
Or, you could take my approach, tell them horrible lies, and risk paying for therapy later. More likely than not, however, in 20 years they will come to you and thank you for the profoundly scarred, yet respectable and attractively slim member of society they have grown into. And I don’t have to see your morbidly obese bundle of joy parading around in a thong.
The title theme from Mega Man 2 begins playing. My Nintendo isn’t on, which can only mean that someone is calling me. The caller I.D. informs me the caller is unknown. Upon answering, I am greeted by an automated message informing me that I am being called about my credit card account. There is only one problem.
I don’t have a credit card.
This makes it apparent nearly immediately that this is a scam, so I push the button to talk to a live representative. The person answers, and I say, “This is a cell phone. Put me on your do not call list.” Of course, as soon as I say, “This is a cell-,” the person hangs up on me.
The next time I receive a call, I decide to try something different. I tell the representative that I’m absolutely interested. The feigned interest keeps them on the line a little longer until I ask, “So what company is this for?” and they hang up again.
The next couple of calls I receive, I try variations on the same approach. I hope I can get someone to trip up and give me some real information on who this vile organization is so I can bring them to justice, but the second I ask any questions, they hang up on me. They clearly know that they are doing wrong and that I’m trying to find a way to hang them.
The longterm Smash reader may remember that I once worked in a call center, and this gives me a good deal of sympathy for customer service representatives and telemarketers. These are people who are at a dead end with their careers. While working at one of these centers, you discover the ugly side of every human being you have the misfortune to come in contact with. Scammers, however, are the scum of the earth and do not deserve any mercy from me.
By the next time I receive an automated message urging me to push “1″ to speak to a live representative, I have a plan in mind. It is a plan that being hung up on can not foil. With anticipation, I press 1. The moment the automated message ends and the real person begins their speech, I draw upon my years of listening to bad local hardcore music for inspiration, and unleash a massive, ear-damaging bellow. Victorious, I hang up on them.
There are plenty of great reasons to not trade in or purchase used games at GameStop. In today’s comic, we address one of those reasons.
When I came back to playing video games after a hiatus which lasted from 1996 to 2003, my first system was a Game Boy Advance, which I purchased used from EB Games (now GameStop). Many of you will remember an egregious error in the design of the Game Boy Advance: the screen was completely impossible to see anywhere except for very specific lighting conditions. The lighting conditions required to play the handheld were most frequently met in bathrooms. I would pull a chair into my bathroom and sit down to play, much to the chagrin of my roommates and their full-capacity bladders as they agonized outside the door. As I sat there playing Lunar Legend, it occurred to me that, as my Game Boy was not new, someone else had likely, at some point, played this system in the bathroom. Without pants on… and probably without washing their hands. Horrified, I used soap to scrub the system off various times. I eventually ended up buying a new Game Boy Advance SP, but until I got rid of my original Game Boy Advance, I washed my hands every single time I was done playing it.
Aside from sanitation reasons that only a crazy person like myself is concerned with, trading games in and purchasing used games doesn’t make any sense. Game Stop will give you $2.00 for something they sell for $30. The only times I ever purchase preplayed are when the game is no longer being made new, and the only way to obtain it is used. This is why I own used copies of Beyond Good and Evil and WarioWare: Smooth Moves. If you don’t like a game or you are done playing it, turn to the internet to sell it. Other users on e-Bay and Amazon will give you a much better value for your game, and you won’t be supporting a bunch of gougers.
I apologize for the lateness of the blog today. The comic, however, was up on time, so that’s what is really important. If we’re going to talk about lateness travesties, it’s that The Uncanny X-Cast, my favorite podcast, didn’t post their new weekly episode on Friday. What am I supposed to listen to now?
Now that I’ve brought up The X-Cast, I should probably mention that as soon as I stopped reading The Uncanny X-Men, Marvel announced X-Men: Schism, which is supposed to be kind of like Civil War, but with the X-Men. Supposedly the separate factions are led by Wolverine and Cyclops. I always enjoyed the tension between those two characters, and I’m excited to see what will come of them actually being on opposing teams. There was a poster for the event that I saw on Free Comic Book Day that really increased my excitement for the event, which I guess is what posters are supposed to do.
Ultimately, I’m sure nothing will really change, but congratulations Marvel, you have my $2.99 monthly again. Actually, I’m a trade-waiter for X-Men comics, so you’ll get my $20 once it’s all over. Except I use DCBS, so it won’t actually be $20. You get the point.
You didn’t really think we were above this, did you? There’s no sense in acting dainty and offended. Newsflash: we all know that you poop too, and it doesn’t smell like roses. In fact, there’s a pretty good chance that many of you have already taken a Sunday Smash today, if you know what I mean.
Lately, whether or not I have a good day hinges greatly upon how many play coins I have on my Nintendo 3DS that I can exchange for heroes to play Find Mii. In order to get these play coins, however, I must engage in an activity I utterly despise: exercise. The pedometer in the 3DS converts steps into play coins which are required to play the game. Imagine my joy when I discovered it is possible to trick the pedometer by gently tapping the 3DS against my hand while I am actually lying on my back on the couch in ultimate comfort watching Doctor Who. In fact, I did this roughly 1,000 times this afternoon.
I saw what you did there, Nintendo. Nice try.
About a month ago, a group of friends and I entered a League of Legends tournament at a LAN event on a nearby college campus. As we sat in my friend’s kitchen discussing strategy, our team captain, Nathan, commented, “Wouldn’t it be great if the old guys won the tournament?” This began the conversation that transpires in today’s comic, wherein it was revealed that I am only youthful at heart… a heart that has a potentially unhealthy level of cholesterol in it.
As it turns out, we were not destined to win the tournament, although Team Dogwood did have a very impressive first round wherein our 3v3 team soundly defeated our opponents. I emerged from the round with an admirable Kills/Deaths/Assists score of 7/0/9. One of our friends who did not enter the tournament happened to have her computer stationed next to the team we were against, and she reported frustration levels were quite high within the enemy ranks.
The next round was a different story. Team You Got a Purdy Mouf dominated us in much the same way we obliterated our opponents in round 1. In all fairness, their team captain had won more games than I’ve even played, and they went on to become the tournament champions. It was enough to make me feel alright about losing.
For a game with a user community as notoriously hostile as League of Legends, everyone was an extremely good sport and accepted victory or defeat graciously. Maybe that’s because it’s generally harder to be a prick to someone when you have to look them in the face while doing it.