Posts Tagged ‘Games’

So I was surfing around, looking for a new job, and found out that Bungie’s hiring in Seattle, WA.  I’m a bit of a Halo junkie (hence the Cortana reference), and I am pretty much over the whole Eastern Time Zone thing.  So I figured, why the Hell not?  Gretzky said, “You miss 100% of the shots you never take.”  Assuming I quoted and attributed that correctly, here’s my shot– and believe you me, it’s a freaking doozie.

Funny part is, I'm more of a sword-whore.

Boom. Headshot.

So yeah, they needed a production assistant– and realizing that Bungie rules because they don’t use some bastard third-party ATS– I decided to stick out of the crowd with my cover letter….

To whomever is blessed with fielding this email address:

Since I cannot juggle chainsaws, the staff will be thoroughly entertained when I try to snag the first one out of the air.  Since I have a degree in English, you can guarantee that the resulting obscenity-laden tirade could very well be in sonnet form (I prefer Petrarchan)– complete with Elizabethan epithets.  I possess two keen eyes for detail when not masquerading as a pirate, and an attention span that doesn’t make that bi-ocular detail-orientation seem like OCD.  When it comes to seeking a multifaceted production assistant that can handle anything and everything that can be thrown in their general direction, not including multiple chainsaws, look no further.

Obvious reasons for wanting to work at Bungie aside (ascending beyond a glorified free-kill in Halo), my versatility and talents are not finding useful outlets in the corner of the nation that I have known all my life.  Desire for a challenge mentally equivalent to a Tough Mudder (I’ve already completed one) is what’s pushing me towards Bungie– and the manner the job posting was worded was too geared towards my personality to resist.  I’ve worked with people from the most humble bumpkin to well-educated engineers and doctors (as well as wealthy sycophants less intelligent than the aforementioned bumpkins.)  I have a natural ability to figure out what makes people tick, and adapting to those quirks like a Borg on crack is my key to being an exceptional team player.

This specific production assistant job is something I was made for, and having a look at the attached resume might provide a tip about all I could bring to Bungie.  That said– it’s never just the tip, and just like any similar enticement– this is about the whole package.  I want to relocate to the Seattle, WA area as I said before– and I can’t think of a better way to usher in a new era of growth than by throwing myself face-first into a dynamic career at Bungie.  I’m looking forward to hearing from whomever may eventually end up with my credentials, and I do sincerely hope said contact is not just a generic form letter befitting lesser, generic applications.

After that, I attached my updated resume, signed off, and figured this might set me apart from the thousands of other emails that flooded their centralized “” address.  A couple minutes later–  here’s the reply I got:

Thanks for your interest in opportunities at Bungie. We’re flattered—sincerely!  We promise that your resume hasn’t gone into the dark void; it’s actually being pored over by a real, live person.  We’ll contact you as soon as possible if there’s a match between your skills and our opening(s).  If there’s not a match at this time, promise to keep your information on hand and reach out as appropriate opportunities pop up. In the meantime, thanks again!


PS: If you’re an artist and have not yet submitted your reel, please do. We’d love to see your work! A detailed description of the work you performed or a comprehensive shot breakdown should accompany your submission.

This shit's gonna be hilarious.

My general reaction.

I don’t think much more needs to be said here…

… in other news, click this link to my first publication– 6 Ways Companies Are Secretly Screwing Job Applicants

Why?  Because my broke ass could use the monetary site-traffic bonus, and I’m in direct competition with every other Cracked article posted this month– and I was started with an 18 day handicap.

Help a brother out, post that link everywhere, and click on it as often as possible.
Do work, people, I may write because I love it– but dammit, I want something back this time!

(This has been my shameless plug of the night)




Disclaimer:  Totally going to Hell for this entry, not because of the patently awesome content but for where I came up with it.   I point a finger of blame at two of my friends, because they brought up The Walking Dead (a show I have only seen a couple episodes of) in the middle of our buddy’s father’s funeral– because I wore my combat duster to the wake.  Hey, it looks damn good with a black suit, black shirt, and black tie– and is plenty warm for the balls cold weather.  So don’t judge.  Well.  Don’t judge for the attire, the rest…  yeah…  anyway.

I’m writing this because I have been entirely too freaking “real” as of late.  It’s almost to the point of being borderline emo, and frankly– I like my wit to be cutting, and that’s about it.  If I had responsibility for the lawn (one advantage to being in an apartment), I’d want my lawn to be emo– but even though it’d cut itself, it’d still want attention.

So yeah, back to them bringing up The Walking Dead while at a wake, and the subsequent Zombpoc thought process.  Apparently one of the characters came up with a way of “pacifying” zombies.  Without missing a beat, I brought up a game that a group of us came up with years ago while utterly shithoused.

Zombie Tagging.

Cue Benny Hill music…  now.

Look at that fat bastard breaking character with a smile.  Just look at him!

Especially fun and easy to do with these Romero Specials.

If you survive the initial “holy shit” moment of the dead trying to teethrape your thinkjelly, eventually fragging zombies and staying alive is going to feel… well… mundane.  Hold your nay-saying, you pugilists, wait for it!  So, our game of Zombie Tagging is kind of like graffiti on moving objects– almost like a testament to your boredom and brass balls.  Cut that meat sack’s arms off, remove the jaw, and it’s largely harmless– then tag that rot puppet with some spray paint.

Think about it, you’re out wandering around– looking to loot, scavenge, or whatever you do for kicks– and you see a maimed zombie shambling around with a fuchsia penis spray painted on its face.  After the initial WTF has worn off, you have realized two things:

  1. Some badass has become so proficient at dropping zombies, they’ve made a game out of not killing them.
  2. It seems to be sprayed over another tag.

That’s right, you can mark your territory with shambling maggot popsicles just like it’s the good ol’ days in Compton.  Think about it, your pink trigger finger will strike terror into would-be raiders– because they’ve literally been following your work for weeks!

Other variants, of course, would be costuming your local horde.  Where’s Waldo never made your brain hurt that much, huh?  You can also up your difficulty level by getting wasted then going tagging (I’m not going to address the idea of Zombie Tetherball that was also brought up in this conversation because…  yeah.)  Or, hey, if you wanna be a real dick– boobytrap your tags with explosives.  I’ll let you figure out how that all works, I don’t want some automated webcrawler from Homeland Security picking up key words and party vanning my happy ass.

Ohhhhh... ohhh no....

Now the fun begins!

On to the real bastardy– because some of us just can’t keep the killing spree to the chewy-dead.  You see, the Zombpoc affords us all an opportunity unlike any other:  the ability to inflict death upon someone twice.  Yes, we were talking about all of this at a wake, don’t judge us.  This is just how things go sometimes when I go traditional formal– and forget people recognize re-purposed leather dusters.

So yeah, some people are excited for the Zombpoc because it means utter and complete anarchy– and that means they can do whatever the Hell they want and kill whatever moves.  The only foreseeable repercussions of acting like a total choad during the Zombpoc isn’t getting the cops called on you– but you could end up on the business end of a gun if you’re not careful.  Digression aside, some people have a kill list especially designed for the day someone forgets to say “Clattu Verata Nicto,” mainly because they don’t have to worry about the feds’ party van to counter their vengeful rampage.  Provided the horde doesn’t use ’em for an appetizer, of course.

Enter the concept of remurder.  Let’s work this by steps, shall we?

  1. Acquire intact, yet severed, zombie head.  Stuff it into a bag like you’re goddamn Perseus with Medusa’s fugly noggin.
  2. Acquire victim.  Mortally wound.
  3. Give victim “head.”
  4. Eat a sandwich while you wait for target to die, turn, then rise again.
  5. Rack up a re-spawn double kill.

Or, if you have a sweet base– behead your target, toss your trophy in a bucket, and create your own head museum.

Only creepier.

You know you have a special place wrapped in hate for someone if you’ll go through the effort to kill that summbitch twice, then take their still animated head as a trophy.  You can make faces at ’em, and they’ll even make faces back!  If that isn’t the ultimate f*** you, I don’t know what is.

Not to mention, nobody at your compound will mess with a Zombie Tagging, double-killed head bagging, amalgamation of deadite extermination like you.  If you really have to make a statement: have dinner around your trophies, shades of Vlad Tepes.  I know, grossly inappropriate conversation for tonight, guys…  we should be ashamed of ourselves.

If that hasn’t fired up a hot coal in Hell for me, this will:  Ex-Pope Benny gave up being Pontiff for Lent.


That’s right, 29 posts, and 56 days later, I cracked the 1000 hit mark sometime this morning!  That’s not too shabby for a guy who’s typed over half of his posts left-handed (read: one-handed), and hasn’t a single publication to his name.  The majority of these are from close friends of mine, I’m sure, but I’ve seen signs of others– curious others wondering exactly what the Hell this quasi-gimp is raving about.  If I haven’t already made it abundantly clear, I encourage all kinds of freaking responses– whether it’s questions, commentary, or just snide remarks.  Special thanks to those who’ve swung with me from day one, through snot-nosed whining, and beyond justified wrath to where I am today—  still recovering from wrist surgery.  Thanks for making this, at very least, entertaining for me to keep doing.

I promise that I, as a jadedly cynical blogger, will never again use following the terms (aside from naming them here) ever again:  blogger, blogosphere, blogspace, bipartisan, netizen, trending, or hater.  Of course, the word “or” is an understood exception required for proper use of the English language (something I know several people have difficulty with), but I had to clarify the list due to several known wiseasses who read these shenanigans.  I also promise that I will continue the upkeep of this monumental waste of time as long as my fingers keep working.  There’s a dirty joke in there somewhere, do what you want with it.

Anyway, with that said, on to today’s entertainment.  It’s no secret that I’m not just a “zombie enthusiast.”  I’m psychotically enthusiastic about the inevitability of a zombie apocalypse, and now that Zombie Jill is no longer a possibility– I’ve gotta get me back to being my friends’ go-to guy for Z Day.  Considering that I am still dealing with rehab, this means one thing, and that’s gaming (now that I can freaking aim).  I don’t play CoD (because I am not a regular gamer), and Duke Nukem would easily tear through a horde of rot popsicles on one of his textbook roid rages.  I’m too cheap to pay for broadband internet (I piggyback off my Droid like a good technocheapskate), let alone Xbox Live.   I’m talking about something new:  Dead Island.


Eleven on one? Please. I don't even need a gun for this.

Unlike with Duke (where I had been waiting 12 freaking years for the game to come out), I did not run out and buy this game new.  I hit up my good buddies at Redbox.  I wasn’t even going to get the game, but thanks to a friend of mine ditching me for reasons ambiguous, I got the game to myself all night.  Not many things make me jump, but this game is genuinely creepy.  I have no idea whether that’s due to the sunny resort setting, the gore factor set to eleven, or the fact that you don’t get a freaking usable gun until late in the first act.  It’s not like any game I’ve really played before.  No joke, where Left 4 Dead (among other titles), rely heavily upon creepy settings (and employing the classic “shoot the living shit out of a freaking horde” mentality), Dead Island is seriously different.  You gotta get personal, which means a whole different ball game.

This game is so heavily reliant on melee, it almost qualifies as a first-person fighter.  The developers were brilliant when they actually forced you to repair your weapons, as they take damage during use.  Not to mention, you can modify your stuff to be even more bad ass– from putting nails through a baseball bat, to making a burning plank, to electrifying a machete, and even more that I haven’t unlocked.  Yeah, how’s that for the ultimate dick move?  Sure, you’re allowed to diabolically DIY stuff that’d be clearly in violation of the Geneva Convention.   However, you’re not allowed to MacGyver anything without a set recipe– and you have to find and earn those.  Yes, they’re worth it, and yes, I totally geek the hell out every time I got a new one.  Don’t judge me.

Not to mention, another break from the genre–  there isn’t an endless sea of doddering carrion.  I mean, yeah there are zombies of various types just littering the stunningly gorgeous maps.  There are plenty of potential targets for which to get your violently bloody murder on.  That said, there are few true “horde” situations that I’ve encountered (Take into account that I’ve put some serious time in on it, and I’m not even 25% into the single player plot line)– and you’re forced to think like a survivor that doesn’t have a military arsenal at their disposal.  You have to be wily.  You have to loot, and loot, and loot, and launch a guerrilla campaign against the maggot marionettes that are trying to eat your face on a completely open world environment.  Can you say my style of game?

The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire...

Light the barbecue!

All gameplay awesomeness aside, this game actually made me jump on more than one occasion.  Zombies can grapple you, and sometimes you’ll be looting your way around, minding your own business– and bam, you’ve got something rotting and drooling trying to teethrape your brain jelly.  Even I shat rocks the first, oh, dozen times one of the living impaired thought I’d make a good to-go snack.  Like I said before, I have no clue as to exactly why— but this game actually made me give a shit about not getting killed.  That’s pretty much a feat in and of itself.  Add into the factor that it can repeatedly make me jump like a six year old watching Nightmare on Elm Street, and this game has officially got my attention.  Sick, sick bastards, you game makers.  I want to hump your legs for this one, even if the gameplay employs a serious learning curve.

Yes, Redbox, we shall meet again soon– unless I find it in a bargain bin somewhere first.  In the meantime, I guess it’s going to be “Hail to the King, Baby.”  For some reason, I don’t consider that a bad thing.  I wonder why?  I’ve got balls of steel, that’s why.