Every time a new fighting game comes out, I’m a little late to the party. What this means is that everyone has more or less figured out the projectile moves, making every duel progress as follows: hit by projectile, hit by projectile, block, block, block, jump, hit by projectile, hit by projectile, jump, jump, jump, jump, hit by projectile, throw controller out the window.
Aren’t we having fun?
My hadoukening friend happens to have a sister named Maral (pronounced more or less MA-raal). If there was anything to be had from that spammy spammy game, it was renaming it Maral vs. Capcom 3.
Shoutout to whoever the fuck Eliza is. This morning, my landlord started banging on my door. Thinking there was a fire or something, I fall out of bed and throw some clothes and shoes on. I swing open the door and my landlord points down the stairs at some girl in the foyer.
“Are you with Eliza?” she said.
“I don’t know an Eliza.”
“Oh… well she told us this was her address.”
Goddamned Eliza. Giving people the wrong address and waking me up at bitch-o-clock in the morning.