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Author Topic: The Worst MAGfest Ever  (Read 7686 times)

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Thad

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Re: The Worst MAGfest Ever
« Reply #40 on: January 06, 2009, 08:59:27 PM »

if I looking for phone charger

him name is samsung phone charger

I lost my phone charger

PM Me



Love, Arc

P.S. I'll find my phone charger

Who took my phone charger

I have it.

...

...Okay, so actually I have one JUST LIKE IT, for an old phone I don't use anymore.  But wouldn't it have been awesome if I actually had yours?

Anyway.  If nobody else finds the thing, PM me and I'll see about shipping you the one I'm not using.
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Arc

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Re: The Worst MAGfest Ever
« Reply #41 on: January 06, 2009, 09:13:18 PM »

~ Let The Right One In ~

The sun had long since died, and dinner had long since finished. Without much thought, I had expressed a desire to engage in the Attacking of Tetris. Surely, the game room would have such a prestigious title on hand for such an occasion. Doom's eyes quickly turned into bowls of inferno. We couldn't visit the game room soon enough, and upon entering, two separate monitors could be seen sporting classic Nintendo brethren battling with colorful blocks.

Each monitor was surrounded by four players. Would we wait?

Lurking around the floor, we all slowly found ourselves back at the crowded Tetris Attack tables. And we waited. And waited. And on what could have been a breaking point, Doom sat down. And sat. And sat. A defeated player at the table exited.

Showtime.

The beating was refined. Quick. Lethal. The once victorious opposing player fell, exiting just as quickly as he had accepted the challenge. We seated ourselves, and began the task of moving the mountain known as Doom. He claimed to have trained under some foreign entity, Neeku or somesuch, and never showed a moment of exhaustion. My combos were quick, but too small. Dohl's tactical movements were effective, but not as aggressive. Duke's planning was perfect, but too slow. Victories were measured not so much in wins, but in how long we could survive.

And then a passerby stopped and gazed. And I invited him to play, holding back a devilish sneer. And he accepted.

He appeared more as someone that should be serving us lattes than a gamer. Exiting the room for a moment, I embarked upon the Legend of the Three Masks. Returning later, something peculiar had occurred. Doom was no longer holding a controller. The passerby had... Won. Handily and numerously, as evidenced by further battles.

We soon disbanded. Suggesting handicaps would have felt hollow. The damage of my cordial invitation was done. Bigger fish roamed these waters, and they didn't serve caffeinated hot milk, but instead bitter, cold defeat.
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McDohl

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Re: The Worst MAGfest Ever
« Reply #42 on: January 06, 2009, 09:46:58 PM »

Ah, Katestory references. :wuv:
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Detonator

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Re: The Worst MAGfest Ever
« Reply #43 on: January 07, 2009, 05:30:05 PM »

Quick note to video game tourney people: I talked to my roommate, one of the MAGFest chairs, and he acknowledged the huge problem running the tourneys.  To fix it, they are hiring a professional to run the major video game tourneys next year (this guy has been hired to run entire game rooms at anime cons).  Hopefully this will fix the issue so things are more organized.

My full closing thoughts will be posted soon.
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McDohl

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Re: The Worst MAGfest Ever
« Reply #44 on: January 07, 2009, 05:32:17 PM »

I...I ran a round-robin FIFA 08/09 something tournament for my city's LAN center.  I did a damn good job of it, too.
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Arc

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Re: The Worst MAGfest Ever
« Reply #45 on: January 07, 2009, 06:39:14 PM »

~ Legend of the Three Masks ~

Three wooden treasure chests were placed in various locales of the hotel, free for any wanderer to plunder. One simple rule: Give as you take. Meaning, for every crummy cartridge won in a mystery box raffle (see: Max winning Garfield: Caught in the Act for the Genesis), a crummier wad of junk would be left in its place. Every party had raided the Arc Trunk, leaving a few spoils remaining. It was time to raise some eyebrows.

Creaking open each chest, three masks were placed inside.

The Ghost w/ binoculars in the foyer:



The Slasher w/ viewmaster in the hall:



And The Phantom w/ radio earphones in the arcade (discovered later):



A note was placed under each mask, which read "seven days", and the chests were closed shut. A sk8tr kid & weeboo grrl were spotted with The Slasher & Phantom the next morning, and a musician had later claimed The Ghost online. God help them from the time-released mycotoxin sprayed over the masks.
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Alex

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Re: The Worst MAGfest Ever
« Reply #46 on: January 08, 2009, 04:21:35 AM »

also my name is Alex McDougall.  pussiess.

why did you take my name kazz  :sadpanda:

i bet you took arc's phone charger too  :ohshi~:

Kazz is going to build a doomsday with all the things he's stolen from us!  The fuel will be childhood dreams!
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Arc

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Re: The Worst MAGfest Ever
« Reply #47 on: January 08, 2009, 09:40:11 PM »

~ Way of the Flabbage ~

Flabbage is, by all accounts, disgustingly fat. His titties alone blot out the sun. Trying to share a room with him was like reenacting Kaori's last gurgle of air. Take a left at the wrist, and just keep trudging along until you reach the closet. He'd disappear more than any other member, but could always be easily tracked down by the trail of piss mixed with chocolate that followed him around everywhere. So. Fucking. Fat.

Anywho, I once tracked him down into the gameroom. 10,000 SQ FT of space in there, 5000 reserved just for his lardass. The beefsticks he called fingers were tapping away at Mega Man 2. Four bosses were defeated, and best of all, he claimed to have never have played the game. Charity must be given even to the horribly obese cowmen of this world, and so I sat down with him. Without warning, the system cut out and the screen went blank.

Say what you will about Flabbage (such as the questionable existence of his manhood), but when he gets HUNGREE, there's nothing outside of an apocalyptic buffet that can stop him. His hunger was to complete the game, right then, right there. So we plugged the system into another input and began again. The deluded child had been flailing around through the levels & bosses using only the Mega Buster, as if trying to prove his worth to the invisible demi-gods of 8-bits. Somewhere along the way, between the roast beef gorging and Mountain Dew chugging, I convinced him to begin using his inventory. Miracle upon miracles, progress was made... Until Heat Man's stage.

Attempting to once again flex his gaming muscle, he failed and failed to cross the chasm of disappearing blocks. So pathetic. So fat. At last, my Pro Tip regarding Item-2 was taken to heart, and soon Wily's Castle was unlocked. The faux flexing began once again, and after dozens of deaths for each stage, Alien Wily greeted us at last. Gawkers stopped to gawk, and with the scent of victory reaching his proximity, Flabbo initiated double bubbles (thanks for the Pro Tip, M. Night!) to conquer the mad doctor.

The victor then regurgitated a turkey bone or five, and rolled off into the sushi restaurant for his seventh meal that afternoon.

Fatty got game. Fatty got game.
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Mothra

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Re: The Worst MAGfest Ever
« Reply #48 on: January 09, 2009, 10:28:46 PM »

~ Kabbage Knees Megaman 2 Directly in the Dick ~

The night had been awkward, to say the least. In a rare turn of events, I had failed to cleverly trick Geo and co into getting me hammered for exactly zero dollars and zero cents, and suddenly Condottiere was looking a hell of a lot less exciting than I'd remembered it. For one thing, I was winning, and these numb nuts were scarecrowing all kinds of stupid shit in an endless cycle of self-sabotaging dumbassery. This game had gone on for far, far too long, it was four in the morning, and having run my cards dry in a show of daredevil strategy (dropping like six tens and folding), a passing glance at the game board told me Geo was poised to win, but Kazz still had a handful of popetokens - I dropped a game ender that gave the round victory to Kazz, assuming, wrongly, that he didn't have two already lined up and a third in the pipe. Laziness of the tired and sober sort didn't often get me into a position of game ending power, but well, it did here, and I got the feeling the end farce was far less amusing and more more offensive than I'd anticipated. I briefly considered a way to somehow pin it all on McDohl and escape in the confusion, but my mind inevitably wondered from the plan into constructing an imaginary egg salad 'n rib patty triple-decker on toasted rye, and I filed the whole damn event under whatevs.

Unfortunately, that shifty fella with the hollow eyes had been waiting the whole time, his unwavering gaze shaming my indifference all the way back to the room, borrowing straight on through his paper-thin facade of a perpetual David Caruso exit and into the back of my head as I slept. My dreams are often a Kirby-like affair, flooded with delicious berry-swirl creme puffs and woodland critters magically animated from large piles of uncooked Nestle quatra-chunk cookie dough, but that night I could only lie in abject terror as this drug-fueled manic did unlimited chin-ups and squat thrusts until day break blessedly released me from the prison of my eight hours. He had passed out from exhaustion during the inevitable drug crash some time during the late morning and now hung unconscious from the shattered husk of the television, his mouth dripping with foam and arm lodged somewhere within the mass of wires and shattered glass that remained. I knew leaving McDohl behind was probably equivalent to some form of indirect murder, but I often find that moral judgments of its sort are marginally more work than altogether avoiding them, or eating, and this morning was no exception. Muffling an involuntary fatgrunt into my pillow, I rolled to my side and hastily stuffed three entire turkeys between an arbitrary chin before peacing the fuck out.

The video game hall was a blessed breath of fat air. Hundreds of my fellow breatheren takin' it one step at a time, waddling in short, arduous bursts to a thundering chair-detonating collapse at one of a dozen Smash Brothers stations. There, they would wavedash with Fox over and over until their hard-earned victory had driven away every ounce of competition; it was almost an art, the way we hunkered down and broke each game we could get our sausagey mitts on for the sheer thrill of watching the normies toss their controllers with frustration. "DOOOOOOOOH HO HO HO HO HO"'s rang out again and again across the arena, a victorious roar that was impossible to ignore; this was our turf, our kingdom! I saw that the real work was being taken care of, taking but a moment to lower the skeletonized remains of my breakfast turkey and to proudly send off a solemn, dignified salute. Truly, there was nothing more I loved than being a fat fucking fuck.

My eyes glazed over the vast selection of game consoles largely unimpressed - some obscure Dreamcast fighter, another dime a dozen Halo 3 deathmatch, one of those tedious japanese top-down shooters for OCD folks - coming to a stop over the brilliant and inspiring title screen of Capcom's immortal Mega Man II. There has been a near endless stream of bitchin' from what seemed like every last corner of the internet over what a hardass this game was, but shit, this didn't look too hard. Yeah, I knew it had invisible blocks somewhere, and I assumed there was probably a couple of walls of spikes I'd have to deal with, but I'd made Powered Up my bitch, and X before that, how tough could a twenty year old game really be? Not very, apparently, as I completely wrecked Bubble Man's stage like a bag of flavor-blasted pretzel-twist Combos, plowing right on through to Wood Man, and eventually booting up Air Man's with but a chuckling doohehehohohoh to show for its token gestures of resistance. A grand time, so far - it was like a casual game of Bubble Bobble to humor the kids! Pretty lights and music! What fun and merriment!

"Whatcha got there, sugar-tits?!" A passing bird dropped an egg full of bees on my character and knocked me off the ledge, down several levels to the base of the ladder. Arc was awake, it would seem, the massive bags under his quivering and pus-rimmed eyes poorly concealed by a pair of undersized gecks. "You playin' Mega Man fucknuts?! Ohohohooh, we got ourselves a pro gamer here, everyone!" A family of four ended their charming rendition of Barracuda early as the parents herded their children into the arcade section, eyeing the rowdy newcomer as he tore open a can of Full Throttle from his impossibly douchey beerdolier and poured it over my Nintendo. "Why do you gotta be such a colossal dick all the time, man?" I could only grimace with disgust as he stabbed a second can with the corner of my gamepad and shotgunned the contents. His response was fairly expected, a crushed can to my forehead followed a guttural belch, "'cause you're fat, fatty. Com'on, lemme show you how someone plays this game without sucking a massive throbbing dick."

Kicking the dripping husk of a console into a passing neckbeard, Arc launched a syrupy loogie into the face of Magfest's Only Girl and wrestled away her guitar hero controller. Garnering a running start through the entire LAN section, clearly ruining Call of Duty 4 deathmatch forever, he broke the live-wired controller across the back of a docile sweater-vest quietly enjoying a game of Star Voyager and tore his console from the table. Feeling this was going to continue for a bit longer, I snuck in a second turkey to tide me over until this horrific display had finally run its course. "Have fun on the floor, shitstick!" Arc's laugh felt like a pack of hyenas had just torn into a baby ward, an awful, awful sound that was nothing short of the polar opposite of Doooh-Ho; a sort of condescending ch'ahaheheheh that delighted in the pain of others for all of the wrong reasons. This beast of a man needed to be stopped, for all our sakes.

What followed was perhaps one of the single most grievous perversions of video gaming I have ever witnessed. Arc used every dirty trick in the Mega Man book - the flying platform, the surfing platform, the saw buster, the air buster - I could almost admire his keeping to the fat fuck code of game-breaking if it wasn't all so profoundly devoid of the joy and merriment. My rounds were shining beacons of good taste and buster-only badassery, my movements fluid, my technique divine, my victory monumentus, and my deaths all purely the result of his flicking the TV off and on with a remote from ten feet away, well out of the rotation range of my stubby forearms. Arc played humorlessly, fueled by nothing more than an infuriated and cocksure need to win at any cost, even if it meant using fucking rush jet to skip over the challenge, as one might surmise a cock might. My third turkey tasted bland and lifeless as I farted not for comedic effect, but from sickened physical revulsion. My body was rejecting this Mega Man game with all its might, the mindless non-event that was Bubble Man causing me to lose my appetite for the first time in my entire life; a feeling I never want to experience ever, ever again.

As Arc stomped off at the entrance of Wiley's castle to restock on power bars and haze the prinnyhat vendors, I found myself locked into a zen-like trance of intense and unwavering concentration. The spike pits seemed a laughable and charming diversion, the boss that formed out of various bits of the wall was defeated entirely with a single buster shot, in a single go, and all eight robot masters bowed out of their second fights, beginning an inspiring slow clap that carried me into the final stage of Wiley's chamber. As Arc reemerged with an instantly awestruck Dohl and Duke, I could no longer restrain the waves of jolly flablaugh that erupted from within, Wiley's alien facade eliminated in a spectacular white-knuckle double-bubble gambit. The deed was done, my chair finally collapsed into sawdust as I rolled onto my back and drowned out the furious ballast of variations on "SHIT'S GAYEST SHIT I'VE EVER SEEN" with a rallying fest-wide DOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHH HO HO HO HO HO HO HO HOOOOOO

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Arc

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Re: The Worst MAGfest Ever
« Reply #49 on: January 10, 2009, 10:53:44 AM »

It's all true. Right down to the crown.

Except we both forgot to mention the Viking Neanderthal, who was only content when thrashing away out our shared powerstrip. The hairy twat was 'attempting' to hookup Lemmings, or whatever the hell those blonde fleshbags play when they're not guzzling down dragon spit and boning nine-year-olds. In all actuality, the fuzzy wonder was only succeeding in coming millimeters from shutting off our game.

Flabbage chucked a rotted ribcage into his throat, while I pummeled away at his soft underbelly (helpfully flashing red). Utterly defeated, he left behind a cartridge of Blackthorne and 280 GOLD.
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Mothra

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Re: The Worst MAGfest Ever
« Reply #50 on: January 10, 2009, 01:11:33 PM »

Uhg, that guy sucked. Glad we didn't make the mistake of giving confolk the benefit of the doubt.

Magfest was just a big ol barrel of good times, far more so than I'd expected, considering the fact that it's largely a board game convention. Shadows Over Camelot turned out to be one of my favorites, probably the first time I'd ever seen a co-op tabletop game, players needing to work together to defeat the board instead of each other. I mean, I like the competitive clashing of strategies in Popegame and Risk and all that, I just found the teamwork of Camelot - splitting up groups to ward off the Mongols or entrusting all of our grails to one or two players for the corruption quest - a damn sight more engaging than the one-on-one battles in other games. Needs more traitor cards, though.

I finally figured out why folks are into 40k so much after scoping out a few four-man battles going on, and watching Max teaching Kazz the basics of a similar figure game. From what I eventually gathered, it's half the scale of the thing, and half the satisfaction of showing off your slew of meticulously painted and detailed figures in a setting where they can do more than just look pretty. Still a bit too heavy on the rules for my tastes, and way slower than I have patience for, but I think I get why it's so popular. Reminds me of my Micro Machine days, when I'd have an impossibly badass army and nothing to do with them.

Blockus was an instant classic once Kazz busted that bad larry out, one I'm absolutely going to pick up once I've got the cash. It's fast, it's loose, it's simple, and it gets a rise out of folks in ways I had thought only MAGDAR capable. I'm still bummed that I never got to do a few rounds of 'Dar with Dimastines - by far the most fun kid to play any game with - but everyone packed it up pretty soon after the first few rounds and Doom and I were still locked in some bitter four-player Advance Wars. Did get a number of games in with Det and Kazz after the con, though, so I've managed to get the word out of my system for the week.

The endless wailing of Rock You Like a Hurricane aside, I was really digging the game room. Anonymous consoles meant most folks didn't give a flying fuck about score or unlocks or achievements, they played for fun. Being able to sit down at a game of Battlefront II or River City Ransom, introduce yourself, and just enjoy the damn game with a crowd who knew what they were doing was incredibly refreshing, and immediately fun. No tedious learning curve, no having to guide them around, you could combo up and get the sort of casual gaming synergy you have to fight tooth and nail to achieve online. I only wish the Gears of War 2 tourney went half as smoothly, but alas, maybe next time.

I'd poke my head in to check out the shows every now and again, but by and large it was droning Miniboss knockoffs (Armadillo Tank, This Place is Haunted) that all sort of sounded the same. After Powerglove dropped out, the biggest highlight ended up being The Megas, which managed to rile a crowd of timid nerds into complete fist pumping bravado. My sole regret of the con is missing out on the chiptune jamspace concert that went down while I was too drnkded and lazy to go - looks like it was about as awesome as I'd hoped  :MENDOZAAAAA:

All in all, definitely a heck of a lot more fun than I'd expected. I can breathe a sigh of relief knowing that there are hundreds of other people as nerdy or nerdier than myself who are not complete social lepers, and that a lot of what we do for fun can actually be a damn sight more enjoyable than drinking games and bar hopping. It's all about the company, and thank god you aren't all humorless neckbeards.
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McDohl

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Re: The Worst MAGfest Ever
« Reply #51 on: January 10, 2009, 02:21:35 PM »

SHO HEY GUYS, I HEAR THAT MAGFEST THING WAS REALLY FUN.  I WOULDN'T REALLY KNOW BECAUSE I HATE FUN.  I HOPE NOBODY IMPERSONATED ME WHEN THEY WENT TO THE CONVENTION BECAUSE CONVENTION GAMING IS ALL ABOUT SERIOUS BUSINESS.
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Arc

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Re: The Worst MAGfest Ever
« Reply #52 on: January 10, 2009, 02:25:47 PM »

Banned.

Magfest... it's largely a board game convention.

Hanging out exclusively with our band of misfits could paint the event as such. Here's to a few more rampant vidja players joining next round.


Shadows Over Camelot turned out to be one of my favorites, probably the first time I'd ever seen a co-op tabletop game

Two weeks beforehand, it dawned over my psyche that I'm primarily a single & co-op player, not the versus or competitive individual the convention naturally caters to. Shadows Over Camelot was an oasis in the desert of Pope gamez.


Needs more traitor cards, though.

Simultaneously gnashing my teeth while agreeing over here.


The endless wailing of Rock You Like a Hurricane aside, I was really digging the game room.

LD claimed the year prior had provided far more options, and that a decision must have been made to splurge on new monitors in favor of quality over quantity.


I'd poke my head in to check out the shows every now and again, but by and large it was droning Miniboss knockoffs.

Entertainment System on Thursday night knocked the collective teeth out of the competition, bolstered by a frontman that went beyond the recordings, and firing swag into the audience. Play track six, and imagine some guttural howls tossed around while horrid Belmont figures fly over your head.


My sole regret of the con is missing out on the chiptune jamspace concert

Caught a glimpse of the JamSpace while ex-kids were grinding to Tetris mixed with MC Hammer. Hoooo'kay.


I can breathe a sigh of relief knowing that there are hundreds of other people as nerdy or nerdier than myself who are not complete social lepers, and that a lot of what we do for fun can actually be a damn sight more enjoyable than drinking games and bar hopping.

The musicians made us appear as saints:







http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-HcONbrSOOE
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Arc

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Re: The Worst MAGfest Ever
« Reply #53 on: January 10, 2009, 02:40:12 PM »

Knowing the gonks in berets were security could've saved myself a minute or three.


My full closing thoughts will be posted soon.

Any word when attendance figures are released?
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TA

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Re: The Worst MAGfest Ever
« Reply #54 on: January 10, 2009, 02:53:17 PM »

Eli's saying the attendance was ~1350 this year.
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Detonator

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Re: The Worst MAGfest Ever
« Reply #55 on: January 10, 2009, 03:38:04 PM »

Knowing the gonks in berets were security could've saved myself a minute or three.

They also do security for Anthrocon.  I think we're movin' up!

Really, I don't think I could do the con justice with my own summary.  This year was a test of my own organization and planning to see if I could get a good number of people to show up from all over and have a good time.  I knew that if things got out of hand, plans will fall through and it could be disastrous.

I was pleased, very pleased with how things went.  I knew exactly who was coming a month before the con began, and everyone made it.  That alone makes me glad I put the effort in.  Dealing with hotels and airports almost never works out the way you plan it, and aside from a few missteps, everyone was happy in the end.

Meeting so many of you, some for the first time, some for the first time in years, was a fabulous opportunity.  It's a shame that so many miles separate us normally, but it makes it all the more special when we finally meet face to face.

Dohl, We've both been part of this community for a long time, it was great to finally meet you.  Is a live MAGFest podcast in the works?  Probably.

Max, King of board games.  That box you lent us proved its worth in short order.  Whether murdering the king in Citadels, or MAAAGDAAAAAAAARRRRRRR, you helped make this MAGFest better than it ever has been.  Your own helpful, patient presence helped too.  By the way, I take it as a compliment that you didn't recognize me right away.

Doom, Your legend of riches and majesty grows greater in your presence.  I'm always happy to Smash a Bro with you when the time is right.  Some day I WILL beat you... in Once Upon A Time...

Duke, Are you enjoying your second vacation?  No time to read the boards with all this post-MAGFest relaxation!  Seriously, though, I'm honored to have my apartment be the site of history as you broke the play timer on your Pokemon game.  I might make a plaque or something.  I just hope I'm not the target when you finally follow through on all of your threats of bodily harm.

Arc, We're not so different, you and me... in fact, we're the same.  We were both waiting for the other to break character and show some emotion or passion.  I was quite tickled when you confronted me about it, though you need only to see me when hammered to see the Real Me.  But you, Arc?  Classy to the end.  I'm pleased that you never took off your sunglasses in my presence to fry me with your eye lasers.

Kabbage, I must say, you hide the flab very well.  I'm glad that I was not mistaken in thinking you would be a Cool Cat in person.  Your in-game trolling is already the stuff of legends.  And of course it's always a pleasure to show someone Avatar for the first time.  I'll just make sure I'm always able to break a fifty when you're around.

Geo, You are a bundle of entertainment wherever you are, and I thank you for letting us use your room for the primary drinking/popegame hub.  After waiting so many years after Doomcon, you know I will be demanding your presence in the future.  Now at least you know the problems with flying here, eh?

Ocksi, I will never forgive you for abandoning me to be alone in my bed.  You said you would be big spoon, and you lied.  I tried snuggling with Doom, but he just threw me off without even waking up.  I guess Geo will always be your true love, and maybe some day I will come to accept that.  This is goodbye until then... or whenever I want to see some Pandas again.

Kazz, there is nothing better than your singing in Rock Band.  That's all.

Highlights of the 'Fest include Condottiere and Once upon a Time.

Lowlights include nausea.
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Ocksi

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Re: The Worst MAGfest Ever
« Reply #56 on: January 10, 2009, 06:41:13 PM »

BAD NEWS LITTLE DET

the pandas are now prominently featured on only HALF of all metro cards, with some sort of chimp in a suit on the other half.  apparently there is some event in dc in a couple weeks.

i fear this may mean the end of pandas in the national zoo
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Detonator

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Re: The Worst MAGfest Ever
« Reply #57 on: January 10, 2009, 06:51:39 PM »

i fear this may mean the end of pandas in the national zoo

I wish there was some emoticon that could properly describe how sad I am!
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"Imagine punching somebody so hard that they turned into a door. Then you found out that's where ALL doors come from, and you got initiated into a murder club that makes doors. The stronger you punch, the better the door. So there are like super strong murderers who punch people into Venetian doors and shit"

MadMAxJr

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Re: The Worst MAGfest Ever
« Reply #58 on: January 10, 2009, 06:53:00 PM »

Alright, since Det did it, I will do my round-the-table summary of Magfest soon.

Arc, your co-op game request is noted.  Next year I will bring Doom the boardgame.  It's three players vs. one monster player.  It is hideously stacked against the players.  You can play one level in half an hour.  One hour if you need to learn how to play.  As a bonus, some of my doom monsters are painted, and you guys /saw/ my painted warmachine minis.
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"The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and the intelligent are full of doubt." - Bertrand Russell

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Arc

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Re: The Worst MAGfest Ever
« Reply #59 on: January 10, 2009, 08:29:26 PM »

:perfect: x :over9000:

~ The Hunt For Red TA ~

It was well into the second night when I heard off-hand that TA was not only attending the festival, but was outright staffing. Bwuhhhh?! Hadn't seen him. Hadn't heard from him. Wasn't aware he was even planning to attend. The hunt was on. Max & Dohl knew of his existence, but his whereabouts were nearly figments of other imaginary dreams. As in, he moved like ghost. For three nights, the search was growing more distant, ethereal. The closer we came to his whereabouts, the further his presence became.

On the last night, Dohl suggested the search be taken up again. Intel pointed toward one single location. Nights previous were made out of mulling through thrashers in the game room or skidstains in the vendor area. This time out, the video room @ 3am was to be the fated hour.

Inside, it was pitch black. Credits were rolling. Three figures stood, waiting. The one answering to TA was by the projector. If not for his light apparel, the deep fog and stinging waves of darkness emanating from his very being would've made him nothing more than a trailing voice. He offered to provide a concentrated viewing of the film, Parasite Eve, or more to the point, the visual & auditory highlight of the con (skip to 8:48):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yN_VDIxzWhM

Before previewing what was to come after the projector break, he deftly inquired as to why our visit had occurred. Clearly aiming to uphold a low-key profile, my intentions (which in no way involved a retrovirus, no sir) were in question.

:whoops: "Oh, just wanted to meet & greet, no worries."

The next program was to be hours upon hours of the little known Y's anime. Skip Tip: Remember the first time you were told of the true pronunciation of this series? "Not Whys, bird brain! Ease! EASE!" Well, it so happens that after this exchange, you are directed by International Maritime Law to be as equally as condescending to anyone in earshot making the same mistake. Personally evidenced this enforcement the next day, as an unsuspecting auctioneer was skewered alive by a crowd of chestbeards for making such an faulty error. The remains of his crucified cadaver were later discovered in the adjacent foyer, with "Bird bBrainn" carved into the ribcage.

Time to bid adieu, but TA had vanished. Naturally. The whisper of "Jaime Reyes is a bitch of a whore." could faintly be heard, quickly drowned out from the deafening howl of the wind.
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