I want to thank this man.

I want to thank him because now the pressure’s off. Someone’s already become the coolest handyman ever and I need not apply.

I’ve always wanted to want to be a handyman, comfortable with wood and hammers, bricks and mortar.

Not because that stuff interests me because it doesn’t. It’s because there’s a tweak of shame whenever I have to call a plumber to fix my leaky tap. That’s something, as a man and a provider blah blah, I should know how to do.

Now my father has practical, can do skills that allowed him to design and build his own home. He recently advised me on the problems of rising damp that was so comprehensive all I could say was ‘Uh-huh, what you said’.

Instead I’m full of geeky ‘who the fuck cares?’ skills. I’m pretty good at minesweeper and tetris. Not as good as this guy, who’s in-fucking-credible but I do alright.

Give me a keyboard and a mouse and I’m a pretty mean sniper/camper. I can tell you what’s good about anime, what’s bad about it and what’s good about it in a very bad way. I know my comics and I know where the movies were right and where they were wrong. You know, stuff to impress the ladies with.

Which leads me to a very important question. If I lived in a post-apocalyptic world what could I do? I don’t have any of those practical can do hammerin skills and while I’m a pretty good sniper in a computer game I’ve never fired a real gun in my entire life. Which means I wouldn’t last five minutes against people like this.

You can tell that she just can’t wait for the world to end and I’ve made a resolution.

No, I’m not going to learn how to shoot. It goes against my nature – I’m a lover, not a fighter barf barf barf.

I’m going to buy a book. A handyman 101 guide. I’m going to take it home so that when the world ends I can take it off the shelf, brush the dust off it and learn how not to make a house out of crap.

So after you’ve taken the garbage out and shot oscar in the face you can return to your house as a man and a hero. Now you can knock back a beer and fart into the sofa or you can profess your undying (so long as your socks get cleaned) love to your significant other. I’m not referring to the automatic rifle that you use for hunting rabbits.

You can do this in two ways.

You can chug your beer down in three seconds, burp and say ‘I did that for you.” Always special when you choreograph it with a fart into the sofa. It’s a sure fire winner.

The other needs a little preparation but the pay off is worth it. Turn off the television (be brave now, it’s not gone forever). Turn down the lights, put on some pretty music (Marilyn Manson’s ‘The Beautiful People’ does not count, unfortunately) and get some caveman light going. Candles are good. A nice soft glow that hides all your worst facial deformities.

This is even better.

I mean a hand grenade oil lamp made from decommissioned US military ordinance, what the hell?

Who would buy this?

Barry White, KFC and these little puppies setting the mood. I am disturbed.

My prediction? A whole heap of women on Mother’s Day this year saying… absolutely nothing. It would have to be a ‘words escape me’ moment.

A song of seduction for those struggling with the concept of pretty music.

So I lied.

Please, before you do anything, watch this video.

Isn’t that special? Now I don’t know about you but I have absolutely no idea how I’ve survived all these years without the FMG-9. I know exactly what this guy is talking about. The world is a dangerous place full of people not of my blood. Strangers. Who knows what they could be thinking? I need to be ready for them. I need to get on target.

It’s a shame that this is just a prototype. I know you’re disappointed too. The only thing better than an idiot with a gun is an idiot with a gun that doesn’t look like a gun. That makes everything much safer because no one knows that you have a gun so when them people (not of your blood) get up and in your face you can get on target. I mean, come on, what’s the use of a gun if it just acts as a deterrant for random acts of violence? I mean you’d never get a chance to get on target. Which would be a tragedy.

Get on target is my new word.

I believe that a solid grass roots campaign can get this weapon into production. I’m sure the swiss army knife people would be interested, except they’re not of my blood and foreign to boot so I don’t know if I should trust them (my third little toe is saying not). But it must be made. If you’re not entirely sure you need the FMG-9 why the hell not? The nice man in the video already told you why.

When you’re walking your doberman through your gated, blood-relative-only community at a terrifying 9 am on a saturday morning who knows what you’re going to find in the park. It’s a life and death struggle, my friend, are you prepared?

Do you honestly take out the garbage without some form of personal protection? If you’re anything like me you want a tank and air support. At the very least you should take a machete or a seven hundred year old samurai sword. Let’s not be too cautious here. If you really want to ensure your personal safety you need something that says ‘full automatic’ along the side of it. Garbage is dangerous. Those TV dinners can have some sharp edges and who knows what will be waiting for you…

And finally let’s not forget about collecting the mail. If you’re not prepared to shoot those anthrax spores dead then what kind of a man are you? A concealed weapon will save you from anthrax. There are studies to prove it. And a big hello out there to all them spy agencies that just red flagged me.

But the final reason you need the FMG-9 is for the coming revolution. Are you ready to defend what’s yours? Are you ready (sorry, can’t help it) to get on target?

I have consumer lust. It consumes me.

Welcome to Star Wars, the George Lucas cash cow. And meet R2D2, argued by some to be the mastermind behind the rebel um… rebellion and still by others as a deep cover operative planted by Yoda during the Trade Federation Blockade of Naboo. There are valid points to both arguments and I won’t shame myself with a fifteen thousand word exposition supporting and refuting both claims. Because that would be silly.

Not like this. Which is so tacky it’s beautiful. If you haven’t followed the link you should do that now because that’s what the link is for. If you haven’t, well here’s a picture just to remind you how special it is. A DVD player, a 260 inch projector, Ipod player, USB, memory card reader and it moves and sounds just like R2.

Look at it. Admire. And then understand that it costs $2900 USD and if you can afford it you don’t deserve it. But I do. So buy it for me.

This… thing, this audio visual solution, this revelation from the Force itself puts me in crisis. On the one hand I see it as a shameless piece of tack. How god awful can a remote (the millennium falcon) be? Never mind that I don’t even want to imagine the living room that this thing looks right in. This is wrong like cement lions out the front of your house and pink flamingo statues inside. What I’m trying to say is that this is as subtle and elegant as a three o’clock vomit into your pillow.

But I want it. I need it because it moves and sounds just like R2. So most of the time it’ll be hooked up to a decent sound system, and more than likely there’s a power plug desperately required at around fifteen minutes into whatever you’re watching but it moves. It makes R2D2 sounds and curse me, revile me, laugh at me and pity me.

I want it.

The party is SwinGinG. You’ve cut the dance floor to fucking pieces and now you’re behind the bar, mixing killer cocktails. Everyone loves you. They fucking love you. This. Is. Your. Party.

Hey. Who’s that over there? Do you recognise him? I don’t. That can only mean one thing (ominous pause or thunder or whatever). He’s not on the guest list. What do you do?

The only thing you can.

You beat the living shit out of him. Then you hold a wet t-shirt contest. And everyone loves you.

This is ‘This is Vegas‘, an upcoming game from Midway where (and I quote) “a ruthless businessman begins turning Vegas into a family-friendly tourist trap” and “you must start your own powerful empire and resurrect the famous adult playground”. By dancing. By cocktailing. By wet t-shirt contests. By beating the crap out of losers who weren’t invited.

I can see what they’re trying to do. They’re taking this.

And trying to merge it with this.

Which is all well and good. Except when you combine a tough as nails crim with a horny, lovable (paraphrasing wiki) loser you get this.

That image is courtesy of frattinghard. Anyway. What you get is that fratboy kegdog that made your life miserable in school, did it again in college and more than likely will do so in your retirement home as well.

Now I could be wrong. It could have great gameplay. It could be clever and witty. Game mechanics out the whazoo. It could have photo realistic pixel tits that nipple up when splashed with water. It doesn’t matter because you’re still that guy who beats up other guys because they weren’t invited to the party.

There are games in which you can be a bastard. Any roleplay game has that option. As does GTA. Leisure Suit Larry was a dork.

In this you’re just a dick. I suppose someone, somewhere, wants to be that. Thing is they already are. Just look at the picture.

I vote this for the title song.

DJ Soul was on a roll. I’ve been told he can’t be sold. He’s not vicious or malicious just de-lovely and delicious.

What kind of funky rock guitarist wears tighty whites? I didn’t think they wore underwear. It just got in the way. And what is that single, lonely sock for? Perhaps not all the myths about rockstars are… well.. myths. Except if that were true what would he need the sock for?

I think we can all agree that the shoes rock.

How the mighty have fallen. He might be promoting flea bites now but look where he came from. Once he was a god!