Just Dance Wii Trailer – featuring footage from America’s Funniest Home Videos and several user generated clips from dancers around the US.

Thank you for Left 4 Dead 2.

Love,
Greg

Left 4 Dead 2 at E3

Pepsi Max & Chimp

But I’ve never bought a grab bag!

I had high hopes after seeing the initial orders of the Schwag. Sweet t-shirts and stickers and buttons and pens. I don’t like stickers, but they were suddenly very necessary. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one who got excited about this whole thing. VS saw a huge increase in subscribers last month, which I started to fear would result in a larger pool of people stealing my free pay stuff. Valley Schwag delivered. They delivered a large package of disappointment. Come, join me on the package opening. Get excited like I did, then hear the laughter of some Internet goons running off with my money:

I’m sure you thought “Jackpot” when you saw that RubyRed Labs “Fresh” shirt. Then I realized the shirt was the same quality as tracing paper. My theory: Valley Schwag (ran by RubyRed Labs) panicked when they saw such an increase in customers and printed up a bunch of these cheap shirts. I also got two stickers from the same company (four stickers total) and two buttons. Plus I got this game that requires THINKING. LISTEN MAN: I JUST WANT TO ROLL MINDLESSLY IN FREE STUFF THAT IS SWEET. Where are the pens and booth babes! Dogster pin-on buttons? Catster? WTF CRAP! What the Fricking Crap! (New internet acronymn for sure to be spawned by all Valley Schwag customers). What a small crapload of stupid stupid crap. CRAP!

My only hope is that I stab myself with the Catster button and can sue for $14.99 or more in damages. Possibly double that if I stab a major organ like an eye or nipple.

To compound everything, this package came in over the weekend while I was in California. The subscription automatically renewed for next month! Also, my helpful reminder to cancel Amazon Prime went unnoticed while I was gone. I don’t want to second-day air everything for the next year and pay for it! The three-month trial for free was enough!

My luck has run out. Or it’s another payment into the system.

Every one of those purchases seemed like a good idea at the time (excluding the jeans and date). Now, with the power of the Internet, I’ve increased the frequency of my bad purchases with 1-click shopping. And so goes what I’m sure will be my newest waste of money:

Valley Schwag

Thanks to Jason for the link. If all goes as planned, I’ll be documenting the sweet “free” Valley Schwag I get each month.

5:10am | My Bed | Consciousness: 20% | Attitude: Highly Unstimulated and Angry
My alarm went off, blaring a mix of El Soundtrack de Humbertos and Today’s Hottest Rap & Hip Hop because I’ve managed to position my dial halfway between both stations.

It took me a moment to figure out why my alarm was going off before the sun was on. “Black Friday,” I finally concluded. “In a mere 50 minutes people will be pouring through the Comp Usa doors trying to jack my Geforce 6800, $100 savings TWO DAYS ONLY.”

I grabbed the shopping clothes I set out the night before. Yes, I picked my clothes out the night before mostly because at 5:10 I can barely urinate into the toilet, let alone find the toilet and discern it from the bathtub or my hat, let alone put on strategy clothes. I slapped on low-profile clothes: jeans, gray shirt, jacket, cap, and my Pumas (I figured I needed these for their phenomenal traction, handling and ass-kicking abilities in case anyone got out of control and grabbed the last 6800).

There is a strategy to picking a Black Friday outfit. You can’t dress like a computer nerd or people will think that you are after the primo computer parts (i.e. hard drives, video cards, burners, etc). You can’t dress like a dad because people will think you are after xBoxes, tvs and violent video games full of sexual stereotypes. No, I went incognito. “Nothing to fear here, folks. I’m looking for that crap you aren’t interested in on page three.” Yeah, suckers, I woke up at 5am to save $1.29 on photo paper and floppy disks.

I walked out of my house and my dad gave the look of a man who hasn’t seen his unindustrious son pre-9am since the days of infancy, when I used to crap in my pants and transform into a 3:30am alarm clock.

5:25am | Starbucks | Consciousness: 25% | Attitude: Highly Unsafe Behind the Wheel
I fueled up with a Grande Mild and a banana cake from Starbucks. It was at this point that I realized, “I look like a metrosexual caveman. And I didn’t shower today.” Apparently, 5:25am is Hot Chick Time at Starbucks. I passed up the opportunity to use my sweet new Internet pick-up lines because of time constraints. Who am I kidding, we all know it was because of my face constraints.

5:50am | CompUsa | Consciousness: 33% | Attitude: Highly Unable to Park My Car Straight Because I’m So Excited About Deals
I arrived promptly at CompUsa averaging 90mph over all freeways and old ladies in crosswalks. I jumped out of my car, spilled my coffee on myself, swore, and then fast walked it to the LONGEST LINE I’VE EVER SEEN BEFORE 6:00am. It was ridiculous. As I got near the end of the line, a clearly identifiable computer nerd was fast walking faster than me and got one spot in line in front of me. He nervously chuckled and made sufficiently unfunny jokes to try to ease the tension of stealing my spot in line. I began stretching my legs in case I needed to plant a PUMA logo on his genitals.

Seconds after, someone’s mom came up behind me. “Video games for her bastard kids,” I thought. Sure enough, she was waiting for an Xbox. Some old guy came up last and I was sure he didn’t know what a video card was. He certainly couldn’t handle the mind-blowing graphics of a GeForce 6800, and if he did, I was certain his heart would give out if he grabbed the box and twitched from the surge of 128mb of 700MHz DDR Ram, like a man urinating on an electric fence.

“Now, if the 60 people in front of me don’t buy one of the ’3 per store’ I should be ok.”

At 6:00am sharp the line started to slither towards the store. We kept some level of order. The xBox lady was in my peripheral, which was getting me uneasy, but I kept it under control, like Dale Earnhardt in every race except that one where he drove into the wall.

Once breaking through the double-doors pandemonium broke lose. Silly computer nerd took the wrong move. “What? Looking for something in particular? Should have plotted this out before hand.” To buy some time I yelled, “Free gigahertz in the back” and edged past him, still blindly moving through the store, and ran across my aisle. Every freakin’ video card box looks the same, but I found El Voluptuous 6800, took it up to the counter, and was out of the store by 6:10am.

I smiled and mentally did this pose in my head.

6:15am | Staples | Consciousness: 60% | Attitude: Highly Excited About My Hot New Video Card
I jumped in my car and drove 10 yards to Staples. I didn’t realize it was right next door. The line inside was visible from the parking lot. I walked around an abnormally active Staples looking for an ad and a gift. I can’t say what the gift is because the person may be one of our five readers. And that narrows it down to three people that I would actually buy a gift for. So you know who you are, and please calm down because I know you are excited about a Christmas gift from an office supply superstore.

Staples was a big turd, and I left without anything. I spent more time in this store waiting for some chick to order a stupid chair from a red-shirted man who needed to help ME, because chairs are everyday, but freakin’ Office Supply Christmas gifts are once in a lifetime.

6:30am | JCPenney | Consciousness: 70% | Attitude: Bummed that I Couldn’t Feed My Consumer Whore Needs
I can’t discuss JCPenney’s in detail because one of the three gift-eligible people may be reading this.

JCPenney’s was a great experience. Quick parking, empty store, and I was one of the first 100 or 500 or something customers. This guy in street clothes who looked like Jaleel White (more Stephan than Steve) slipped me a Mickey Snow Globe as I walked in. “Great regift idea for that person I barely know that likes Mickey,” I thought.

Stephan Jaleel White was nice but inadvertently unhelpful, directing me to the completely wrong side of the store on the only shopping day in the year where time matters. I meandered around the store and located what I needed still in stock: something too big for a man holding a cup of coffee. I had to ditch the Grande Mild and picked up another package. I was 2 for 3 on the day.

6:50am | Staples | Consciousness: 83% | Attitude: Highly Singing Terribly to Songs on the Radio
Using 100% of my 83% consciousness, I decided that a Staples located far from a major shopping mall might have what I needed. Low and behold, I found a Staples in the middle of nowhere with no one in line. I walked in, requested my desired item, and the red-shirted man says, “Looks like you got the last one.” I called my mom I was so excited. As I’m dialing the phone, another guy walks by and asks for the same thing. “Sorry, we just sold the last one.” I felt terrible because he had arrived for me, but had wasted time looking for the same thing. So, I called him over, handed him the box, but quickly pulled it back and started pelvic thrusting while saying, “Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Who’s your daddy…”

7:45am | Home | Consciousness: 73% | Attitude: Exhausted
On the day, I pulled in some good deals. Here’s a breakdown of what I spent with the savings-
Retail Price: $692
What I spent: $298 + a free Mickey globe

Black Friday is a great way to finish off a Thanksgiving holiday. Nothing like gorging ourselves to celebrate those few moments we shared with Native Americans, before screwing them over and taking their land in exchange for blankets with small pox. It only seems appropriate the day after to celebrate it with American consumerism and Crock Pots brawls at Walmart.

I hung out with a couple friends last night, and we went on a hunt for delicious drinks. After six or seven gas stations and supermarkets, we came up empty handed on the search for chilled cream soda. Nick and Jeremy sold out to C2, and I thought I would just go without. At the last minute, we stopped at Circle K to see if they had any cream soda. They didn’t, and I just had to buy something.

Strawberry milk creeps up on you in gas stations, as you peruse the refrigerated stockade of high-sugar refreshments. You never go to a gas station thinking, “Man, I really need some Strawberry Milk to wash down my 13 gallons of gasoline.” But there it is, posed like a vixen in a glossy magazine, right next to Double Double Chocomania with the cow surfing in on a wave of it’s own excreted chocolate liquid, not at all disturbed that he’s flooding the nation with brown milk. But like a deer in headlights, you can’t look away from the pink-pressed label glistening with condensation. The image on the label shows a splash of rose-colored, high-calcium milk pouring out of the lid ready to sedate your appetite and thirst in 32 ounces or less. 100% of your Vitamin D, Calcium and saturated fat needs in one container.

But you will never consume 32 ounces in less than five sittings. You open the bottle, smell the intoxicating milk/strawberry hybrid, and with all intentions for a conservative sip, you are overwhelmed at its utterly delicious flavor. And so what started off as a drink is now a full on make-out session, mouth wide-open, slurping noises, drool, etc. You can’t get enough. And just when you pull out to breathe, you see that you managed to chug half of the container in the first gulp. Confounded by your gluttony, you abashedly look over your shoulder to see if someone caught you in your weakness. And when no one is to be found, you start sipping again. Slowly this time. And then, it happens:

“Ughhhh.” [pause] “‘Urp! Ummm. Phffffff.” [pause] “UghhhhhhhHHHH…”

You drank too much, you fat pig. If you’re anything like I was last night, you begin to regret a lot of things. Voting for Nader in 2000, third base with that waitress from Denny’s, but mostly, the strawberry milk. You also regret that you are driving, and you have nothing to vomit into. I think strawberry milk is like alcohol, you should never combine it with driving. I quickly gauged the percentage chance that I would spontaneously vomit onto my console. I gave mine a healthy 63% chance, increased significantly by Ass Jeremy, who thought it would be funny to hit me in the stomach after I chugged 1/3 of the milk. Haha, stupid ASS Jeremy, sooooooooo funny! HAHA!!!

So last night, I was speeding home, comforting my intestinal region, coaxing it to hold the Alamo for a few more miles. But still, I did what anyone else does when they feel like they are going to vomit in the car. I pulled into the lane closest to the shoulder and mentally noted Plan A and B. “OK, so I will just slow down, check my points for oncoming cars, and then hang my head out the door.” If, in the case that I couldn’t slow my car down and hang my head out the door, Plan B. I made a mental inventory of everything in my car that I could throw up in. It went in this order: “shirt, my lap, floor mat, collectible Texas Hold ‘Em Poker Set tin.”

I didn’t want to throw up in my Texas Hold ‘Em set, because I like to play poker with non-wretched on chips-

“I’m all in!”
“Dude, is that corn and a Cheerio?”

My shirt was the best option as it was super absorbent. And don’t act like you are grossed out, because I know that you have thought about what you would throw up in while you are driving. I am not alone.

Regardless, I made it home safely. I walked doubled-over, like a nut-punched hump, and took the remaining strawberry milk and put it in the fridge. I knew the following morning, I would want more. But that evening, all I could think about was that the last thing in the world I wanted was more strawberry milk. It’s strange though. I looked at the cow on the label, and he didn’t look happy anymore. He looked like he was mocking me. Punishing me for supporting a company that straps cows into harnesses then hooks up nipple-suckers to extract the cow’s milk inventory. Please, vote Nader in 2004 and wear PETA t-shirts.

He has other quirks. Grandpa Stanley shaves using lemon-lime shaving cream. To this day, I’m still mesmerized that someone thought RAZOR BLADES + SHAVE CREAM + LEMON LIME = GOOD SHAVE. I’m just waiting for the day I cut myself and that lemon flavored stuff seeps into the open wound. I’ve also never been able to find a full bottle of shampoo in his house. I think this is mostly because he’s bald, but he has an abnormal amount of shampoo bottles scattered about the house with about half a centimeter of soap left in each. Maybe it’s just for the memories. A few years ago, I stumbled upon a jar full of soap slivers in the basement. He saves those left over pieces of the bar of soap that everyone throws away. In the Depression Era, his family would melt them down and reuse them to save money.

I opened up his fridge the other day to make a sandwich. Pickle loaf, pumpernickel, and processed cheese with stuff in it. He has a bottle of Hellman’s Mayonnaise from 2001. Apparently that was a good year for mayonnaise. I ate chips for lunch instead.

Outside the fridge are several 24-packs of beer. My grandpa loves beer. He even feeds his tomato plants beer. As a kid, I associated Grandpa Stan with beer. He’s not an alcoholic; he just loves beer. Really crappy beer. He drinks a generic version of Milwaukee’s Best Light. Last year when I visited, I was able to experience what a truly bad beer was over a hand of Cribbage.

For breakfast, he always brings in at least six or seven boxes of donuts, coffee cakes, and fruit pies from the local Hostess store. He also makes Eggbeaters every morning. He asked my mom if she wanted eggs for breakfast, and she told him that she only eats real eggs. “Those will make you fat,” he replied.

Today, I woke up at eight for breakfast, just in time to have hour-old Eggbeaters. Eight in the morning doesn’t sound early, except that I am a hump and this is the equivalent of me waking up at 5:00 in Arizona. I slipped some shorts on and walked into the kitchen for some orange juice.

“Good morning! Can I get you something?” My grandfather’s voice startled me. He talks a little louder than the average person.

“Oh, uh, just getting some orange juice,” I projected from the diaphragm, like the lead role in an award-winning Broadway show. I couldn’t believe the eloquence of the statement.

“What now?”

“Just getting some orange juice.”

He turned towards me, “What?”

“I’m getting some orange juice!”

“What?” He stood up and walked towards me, cupping his left ear.

“Orange juice,” I said gruffly, pointing at the jug.

“Oh! Orange juice. No thanks, already got some.”

Every year I make the trip out to Michigan and endure the same quirks and his biting comments that get under my skin. I leave in a couple days, and I’m pretty sure that after a few more of his sarcastic comments and a couple more chores, I’ll be ready to leave. As for now, it helps me to remember my grandfather in entirety, the flawed character that drives me to the edge every time I visit. At the same time, when he brings out the trademark laugh and throws an elbow and almost spills his Milwaukee’s Reserve Light, I can’t help but love him.