The next livestream will be this Friday, March 7th at 7pm est!  There will be doodling!  There will be chatting!  There will be blood! (not the movie, but there’s plenty of blood in the game we’re currently playing)

Once the doodle is done, we’ll continue the Eternal Darkness run.  Where we last left off, we played through the experiences of Paul Luther, who met an incredibly unfortunate end at the… feet… of the Ulyaoth guardian.  How will humanity survive the oncoming darkness, and will Ms. Roivas ever learn what happened to her grandfather?  Who knows?!

You can view the stream here or here.

See you then!


Vaseline is gross and I’ve never liked the stuff.  More on that in a moment.

My 3DS has been out on loan recently so a friend could play the new Phoenix Wright game, but now that it has returned I figured it was as good at time as any to finally finish up Fire Emblem: Awakening which, despite how good it is, took a backseat to Pokemon X/Y and the aforementioned Phoenix game.

I never thought I’d say this, but I’m a bit glad that FE:A’s story is of relative unimportance.  Rather than have to read up on any plot points that I had forgotten, it was simple to just jump back in and hit the ground running.

I’m generally not a huge fan of games in which weapons can break, but for the most part Fire Emblem does a decent job of keeping it from being super annoying with skills like Armsthrift.  That said, if someone could explain how books break, I’d be really appreciative.

Okay, vaseline time.  I don’t like vaseline.  Greasy, slippery, slimy things bug the heck out of me, and the feeling of having greasy hands might be one of the worst things a human can experience.

Especially when having to use a keyboard or hold a pen.


Anyway, I was at the dentist again and needed another impression.  This particular impression called for a different kind of goop, one that was super tough to remove when hardened.

“This stuff will get on your face,” said my dentist (paraphrased), “so we have two options.”

There were some tools in my mouth, but I managed to gurgle something that could have been understood as “okay.”

“Option one, we rub vaseline into your mustache and beard so you can remove the impression gel later…”

My mind instantly crossed that out as an option.

“…or you could go without it and try to remove the gel on your own, but you’ll probably need scissors.”


In the interest of full disclosure, I was seriously considering the possibility of having to shave just to avoid dealing with the vaseline.

I mean, come on… there’d be vaseline on my face.

Despite my severe aversion to the horrible substance, I timidly chose option one.

My dentist pulled out a little tub of the stuff, and started rubbing it into my mustache.  The feeling was just… so awful.  It was cold, clingy, and it was right under my nose, so every breath either smelled or tasted like vaseline.

It might have been my worst nightmare.  Having been suddenly tossed into the moment, however, I realized how humorous the situation must have looked to an observer.  Some guy in a chair losing his mind as another guy rubs vaseline into his beard.

I started laughing.

and then my laughing made me laugh more.  Everything was totally unreal, and I slipped into a state of hysteria as this guy greased me up.

Maybe it was the fumes?  I’d like to think that was the case, as the other option would be that I’m slightly insane.

Anyway, after the impression was done (which featured a second dentist talking about a vacation where he had two shots of tequila and went to bed, or something to that effect) I went to the bathroom to wash up.

I pooled some warm, soapy water in my hands, brought it to my face, rubbed around, and…

…nothing changed.  Absolutely nothing.  Actually, that’s a lie.  In addition to my face being all greasy, now my hands were.

I had entered full “worst possible situation” mode.  Part of me cracked, and I frantically tried to wash myself.

By wash myself, I mean throw water on my face as if my beard was comprised of live scorpions.  The soap did nothing, it was your run-of-the-mill disinfectant stuff; it wasn’t a degreaser.

All told, I spent about ten to fifteen minutes in there before giving up and going home.  In the thirty-six hours (and numerous showers) that have passed since then I still can’t shake the feeling that there’s still vaseline on my face.

I have the world’s most benign case of PTSD.