Third Annual Corpse Run Costume Contest Update:

Hey!  It’s almost Halloween!  YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!  I’m just dropping another reminder that you can enter by sending a photo of your totally awesome Halloween costume to [email protected]

Jackie and I will pick the winners, and… yeah!  Let’s see what you got!

LIVESTREAM UPDATE:

The next livestream will be this… whoa.  Friday is Halloween…  I never really go out on Halloween, so I’m tempted to say that the next livestream will be this Friday, but I don’t know if that would conflict with you folks.

Let’s say that the next livestream will tentatively be this Friday, October 31st at 7pm est, but let me know in the comments below if you’d prefer Saturday.

See you then!  (whenever that may be!)

END LIVESTREAM UPDATE!

There’s a good chance that I’m over-reacting to Borderlands: The Pre-Sequel, but I’m really disappointed with it.  I finished up the first playthrough this week, and like I feared, the plot didn’t reveal anything shocking/interesting/etc and finishes where BL2 begins without changing our perception of its events.

BPS was basically a “here’s a little backstory” game.  In the interest of fairness, the ending gives a little bit of a lead-in for BL3, but it was completely lacking narratively otherwise.

…and it was short.

Oh my god was this game short.  Even with completing a huge amount of side quests, this thing wrapped up in what felt like 15 hours.  On the positive side of things, True Vault Hunter Mode is (so far) much more entertaining.  The Jack story is told to a different audience in the second iteration, and their commentary is infinitely more amusing.

And now, for something completely different.

The following story takes place over a three second period:

I was about to chop up an onion and needed a cutting board.  While firmly grasping my onion in my right hand, I opened the cabinet with my left.

shhhlink

A glass pot cover fell out and was destined to smash on the floor.  Jerking my arm quickly, I managed to catch the airborne lid… but in doing so, I nudged Jackie’s french press off the counter.

In a stroke of luck, the press made contact with my thigh, and I had an idea: I’d carefully slope my leg and the press would slide down and gently roll onto the floor.  As the press passed my knee, everything was looking great; the plan was going perfectly.

Then my uncoordinated mess of a body was all like, nuh-uh, let’s screw this up.  My leg randomly spasmed, knocking the press back up into the air.

It flew in a graceful arc before shattering on the floor.

…

Maybe I should have dropped the onion first.