Zelda Playthrough -or- When I Realized that I'm an Old Man in a Young Man's Body

This is a post that I began months ago in regards to me playing a video game. If you don't get any references, find the game and play it because it's amazing. Otherwise, you're on your own. Interspersed are some post night comments:

I decided, a minute ago, that I'm going to play the Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time straight through.

It's 9:36pm and about half an hour ago I got the spiritual stone of the forest. Then stopped because I am a normal human being. I feel like a regular play through is one spiritual stone per sit down, then  between one and three medallions per sit for the rest of the game. Not extraordinarily pertinent, but I'm letting you know. Then, succumbing to the minimal (i.e. none) pressure of some of my friends, decided to screw everything and play it until I finish. I shall chronicle that here.

So, we begin the journey at 9:38.

Leaving Kokiri forest at 9:39, stopped by Saria

I forgot I wasn't wearing my glasses, so I put them on for the sighted experience.
Also, I forgot to mention, Link's name is Bonobo in this play through... I just thought you should know.

940: Got ocarina, it kind of looks like a kidney bean. I was really tired when I was writing this, but this remains one of the truest observations that I have ever made.

941: this fucking owl. I didn't really have anything to add, so I looked him up. I literally just found out he has a name. It's Kaepora Gaebora. Who knew? Follow up, why does he need a name beyond "That Annoying Owl"?


942 rolling across hyrule field. Self explanitory.

943 missed bridge by inches. Even though this was months ago, I remember so vividly rolling and rolling across Hyrule Field only to be greeted with a drawbridge receding. I rolled myself into the moat on principle. This was, objectively, the most upset I've ever been. I was left to wallow in pity as I placed the controller on my bed and contemplated every life decision I had ever made as I awaited day and the lowering of the bridge.

946 owl. One word sums it all up. I don't know that I've ever actually read what he has to say. I should fix this, but I'll probably "forget".

949 passed most oblivious guards in the world now i have to wait for this damn egg to hatch. This was another moment when the controller was placed on my bed as I was left to linger in  despair. What am I doing? Why am I doing it? Who am I? Am I an active participant in my existence? There's a lot of waiting in this game is what I'm saying.

951 egg. I guess it hatched?

954 met zelda. It must have.

During that long bit of exposition with Zelda, I passed out on my bed. I just laid back hitting "A" and ignoring whatever she was saying about Ganondorf being evil and whatever and just passed straight out. I've never been actively doing something and fallen asleep before; I don't think. I woke up scared, alone, wondering where I was, Zelda staring at me expectantly. It was extremely disconcerting.

I failed pretty hard.

Sorry for the abbreviated post, I feel like this is lame even by my standards, but I wrote something and that is... something?

Follow me on Twitter if you please, @HeyitsSOB

Holy Ghost Prep has really let me down.

I'm going to take a break from the absolute garbage that I usually write to get serious.

I was informed, last night, that one of my teachers had been fired from my high school. I only had this teacher once, he taught freshman French, and even though I got  a C+ in his class, he moved me up to the honors track. Though that wasn't the only time that this would happen, he saw in me the ability to do well if I really challenged myself. I'll never forget that.

Mr. Griffin was fired after informing the school of his intention to acquire a marriage license in New Jersey, as Pennsylvania still does not allow for same sex marriages... Oh, did I forget to mention that he was gay, it seems that I did because it should be of no consequence. Unfortunately, for my school, it was of apparently great consequence, so I implore you literally fives of readers, let the school, no, the country know that that is not alright.

It should be noted that this is a Catholic school, so being behind the times in terms of worldview is not completely unexpected, but still.

The news story can be found here.

This is what I wrote to the school. If only I were a better writer.

Mr. Danilak and Fr. McCloskey

Ten years ago, I entered Holy Ghost Prep a wide eyed and mostly innocent boy of fourteen. From the second that I walked into Cornwell Hall, I could feel what had been engrained into my psyche from the moment that I came for a shadow day and continued to be pounded into my head at orientation. I was home. I had found a place that was not a community; it was more than that, a family.

The motto “One heart, one mind” which was repeated incessantly at Ghost helped to shape me into the person I am today. I expanded that axiom to influence every aspect of my life and it has helped me develop extreme empathy for those around me. Never have I looked at the plight of another with jaded malaise because, as my high school taught me, we are all connected. To turn a blind eye to one person who has been wronged is to turn a blind eye to all who have been wronged.

                That is why I greeted the information that you terminated one Michael Griffin for pursuing a marriage with his life partner with a rather heavy heart. Objectively, I can understand where you were coming from with your decision. I mean, you are a Catholic institution, and, as such, you need to follow the Church’s doctrine. As of right now, the Catholic Church only recognizes marriage as valid when it occurs between a consenting man and woman. To encourage or promote a marriage between two men (or women) would go against the Church, and that is something that you can’t do. I get that, I really do.

Regardless,  it seems to me that turning Mr. Griffin away at a time when he was making one of the biggest and hopefully most joy-filled decisions of his life is in the poorest of taste. It is downright abhorrent. Though I may be accused of false equivocation, this is no different than parents disowning their child for the mere fact that they are homosexual. I always thought of Ghost as my family, but how can I associate with a family who treats its members as you have treated one of its own that has given so much, over a decade of his life to further your mission statement.  

                I know that one email from a former student will probably get lost amid the thousands of others containing better worded, more compelling arguments. I just needed you to know how utterly disappointed I am, and I hope that at least one of us gets through to you.

I hope you can join us in the 21^st century,

Sean O’Brien ‘07

This was an affront to decency, and I couldn't sit in silence. Spread the word.


And if you'd like to email the principal Mr. Jeff Danilak or the president Fr. James McCloskey, they can be reached at jdanilak@holyghostprep.org and jmccloskey@holyghostprep.org

I Dare to Dream

I would like to share a sincere dream of mine with you, internet.

I know that, overall, this is kind of a throwaway blog to keep me writing (mostly because no one reads it), and there is never really anything of substance. I try to make my posts meaningful (at least a little bit), but I'm just not a very serious person, and I know that that comes through in my posts.


Anywany, I want to get real with you right now.


Frodo...
Think about it.

I have a dream, and I worry that any insistance on my part that it is, in fact, a sincere dream of mine, rather unfortunately, calls my sincerity into question.

I swear to you, internet, that this is a for realsies aspiration of mine.

I want to be the Hobo King.


This could be me!

And now for a brief history lesson for those of you who refuse to click here (where they not only define hobos in hobo terms, but go into fairly good detail about hobo symbology [which is totally a thing]).

Definitely want none of this... Amiright?

In 1900, three men decided to give the town of Britt, Iowa something special, something to show that this wasn't just a town in the middle of what I'm assuming is nowhere. They wanted to bestow upon the town something that would allow it compete with big cities like Des Moines and ... I couldn't think of another city in Iowa because there aren't any.


I defy you to assert that any of those cities is legitimately familiar to you.

So, these three men, Thomas A. Way, T.A. Potter, and W.E. Bradford, enamoured with initials, were tasked with bringing renown to the town of Britt. After some consideration, they decided to bring the Hobo Convention to their fair city. They got in touch with Onion Cotton (great name) and Grand Head Pipe Charles F. Noe (great title) and informed them of the intention to have the Hobo convention in Britt. The Grand Head Pipe (which may or may not be a Hobo title) decided to scope out the grounds with the stipulation that, in "true hobo fashion*," his carfare and other expenses would be taken care of. He came, he saw, and the rest, as they say, is history.

But with hobos... hobstory.

This brings me to the crux of my post. My bid to be next year's Hobo King.**

HOBO-CROWN GOES HERE!

Now, the convention website was kind of foggy on what the actual duties of the Hobo King are, but I can only assume they involve complete, unrestricted control over the lives of every single hobo in existence.

I could tell them where to go, which odd jobs to pick up, which rails to ride, what to pack in their bindles, everything.

To contain: 1 can of beans, 1 top hat with the top punched out, and your hopes and dreams.

 

 I will be a benevolent ruler of hobos.

Or, if, as is more likely, the title is merely ceremonial and I am just the figurehead of the hobos, I shall be the greatest figurehead in all the land. The Queen of England will look upon me with tears in her eyes as I put her nation representing to shame.

Pictured: Bush league nation representing

Shame.

What follows is an open letter containing my formal bid for Hobo Kingship.

______________________________________________________________________________

To: whomever decides who gets to be the Hobo King.

Dear Hobo King Congress,

My name is Sean O'Brien and I would like to formally enter my name into the running for the 2014 Hobo King. I know, as a newcomer in this race, I have my work cut out for me, trying to follow greats like: Uncle Freddie, Minnesota Jim, Stretch, and Bo Grump. I believe, though, that I have the gumption, the hobo spirit, to lead the hobo nation with style and aplomb. I can be the leader you need. I shall rule the hobo land with a hobo fist (one that deftly clenches tenderness and compassion for my subjects).

Throughout my nearly quarter century on this Earth, I have learned many things. Chief among them is that I want to be the Hobo King so badly that sometimes when I think about it I get legitimately worried that I might pass out. I'm already great at adding hobo to words, which, I'm sure, is, like, half of the job anyway.

I hope that you will grant me the hobo-consideration that I believe I hobo-deserve.

Sincerely yours,
Sean O'Brien (Future Hobo King)

______________________________________________________________________________

Readers, I implore you. If you know anyone who can help make my dream a reality, please direct them to this blog and/or send them my letter. I thank you for your help in achieving my dreams.

Hey, if you want to know about other things I like, follow me on twitter: @heyitssob



*which seems to go against how they define hobos. They say they're people who always work to pay their way, but GHP here just seems to be a cheapo.
**I was going to petition to be crowned this year, but the convention was August 8-11, so next year it must be. When I turn a quarter century old, I shall be the king of the hobos.

ChaCha Real Smooth

Before I begin, some background: ChaCha is (for those not in the know) a service where you are able to text a question to the number 242-242. Soon after, they respond with an answer to your query. Admittedly, this service has pretty much lost all relevance since almost everyone has the internet on their phone and can look up the answer to any question instantly. 

I, however, still have a regular old cellphone. I'd say its not a "smart" phone, but it's figured out how to turn itself off, only doing so at the most inconvenient times, leading me to believe it is becoming sentient.

Oh, you want to send a text? Wouldn't you rather go fuck yourself?

But I digress, technophobic rants are for another place, another time.

Since my cellphone does not have internet, if I want to know something, I either have to wait or ask ChaCha. Since waiting is a sucker's game, I often opt to hit up ChaCha.

In this instance, I wanted to know when season 4 of Arrested Development would premiere on Netflix. I knew it was happening, but I couldn't remember the exact date. With no computer present, I turned to ChaCha.

Now, what follows is a completely accurate* transcription of a conversation (via text message) that I had with the service ChaCha. I need to make it abundantly clear that I copied the text messages word-for-word. I don't want to be accused of libel for this blog.


_____________________________________________________________________________

THE CONVERSATION

Me: When does the new season of arrested development premiere on netflix

ChaCha: Dexter season 4 will premiere on September 27 and is currently filming. Have a great evening, ChaCha!

Me: When does the new season of arrested development premiere on netflix

ChaCha: Hmm… we sent that Answer to you already! Txt GETNEW to get a new answer.

Me: Getnew

ChaCha: It should be at the end of September. For sure, some time this fall. Watch you showtime listings!!! ChaCha rocks!!

Me: Hey chacha, When does the new season of arrested development premiere on netflix

ChaCha: Dexter season 4 will premiere on September 27 and is currently filming. Have a great evening, ChaCha!

Me: When does the new season of arrested development, not dexter, premiere on netflix

 

ChaCha: The premiere of the 6^th season of ‘DEXTER’ airs on Sunday, Oct 2 at 9 PM ET/PT on Showtime. Go ChaCha!

Me: When does the new season of arrested development, not dexter, premiere on netflix. I emphasize, NOT Dexter.

ChaCha: The premiere of the 6^th season of ‘DEXTER’ airs on Sunday, Oct 2 at 9 PM ET/PT on Showtime. Go ChaCha!

Me: The show arrested development, starring the likes of michael cera, jason bateman, jessica walters, and will arnett is going to be premiering on netflix with a new season.  when does that happen? the premiere, when is that?

ChaCha: The Season premiere of The Office is Thurs, Sept 22, 2011 on NBC. Ciao, bella!

(A few moments later)

ChaCha: Yes it will be appearing all new on netflix. Thanks for sharing. ChaCha for now

Me: I know that, when?

ChaCha: You’ll know this when Matt calls you in the next few days. Don’t miss the call cause he will only try once, then he’ll call Emily.

Me: What are you even talking about, guys?! I just want to know when arrested development premieres

ChaCha: Second base is one step up of First Base, which includes heavy petting and feeling up while making out, up the shirt or shirtless for both partners.

Me: I feel like I’m in an alternate universe, am I being punk’d? I really just wanna know when the new season of arrested development premieres

ChaCha: The new season of Arrested Development premiers on May 26, 2013.

Me: Thank you

ChaCha: No, thank you! I aim to please and you r happiness is what makes me do what I do!

…

And that was my adventure with ChaCha. It was... interesting. Interesting, in this instance, meaning like pulling gosh dern teeth.

Follow me on the twits: @HeyitsSOB

 *The only inaccuracy in my recording of this was that I used premier instead of premiere for pretty much the whole conversation. So, I fixed a semantic error on my part. I don't think that's why the answers were wrong.

Living a Better Life: Three Lessons

I've decided that I need to improve myself.

I've been, as has been pointed out, a lazy bum for the past few, let's call them, months ... years ... my whole life ... whatever.

It's gotten to the point where I often worry that I am a sentient lichen.

Why am I?

The upshot to that, though, is that I would live, like, super long.

Anywhee, I am going to share with you some lessons that can (maybe) help make your life more livable. At the same time, I'll be writing and, thus, improving my self-worth. Two birds with one post.

Boom.

                                                                                                                                                                      
Lesson 1:

Never mess with the people who serve your food.

This man essentially has diplomatic immunity... And a baller hat.

I realize that maxim has been repeated countless times in countless ways, but I feel that it really needs to be drilled into everyone’s head.  I see people being complete jerks to their waitors and/or waitresses on a daily basis and wonder, “Does no one realize how easy it is to spit in your food?”*

Cause it's easy.
                                                                                                                                                                      
Lesson 2:

If you are ever tempted to say any of the following phrases:

“I listened to them before they were popular.”

“I don’t really like ‘blockbusters.’”

“Their old stuff was better.”

Or

“Dogs are better than cats.”

Don’t.

Just don’t. (Actually, you can say that last one because it is a well-documented fact.)

Pictured: Just one of the many things better than cats.

There is only one reason that people say one of the first three phrases: to feel self-important.**
Also, you're a hipster.

This guy was cool before it was cool.

I can say from experience that I have never heard someone say any of those phrases and reacted with anything other than a wince and an eye roll. You’d be better served saying, “Hey, I have an opinion, that, I know, while being completely subjective, thoughtless, and utterly meaningless, should be shared with you for your obvious benefit.”

At least then you’re being honest about your intention.

                                                                                                                                                                      

Lesson 3:

This last one is short, but necessary.

If you are ever working anywhere, never, and I cannot stress this enough, NEVER, tell your coworkers that your girlfriend’s vagina smells like “Dumpster.”***

It makes you seem like an ignorant misogynist. (which you are)

Also, for safe measure, don’t follow that gem up with, “It’s okay, though, I just put it in her butt.”

Sweet Christ, no.

                                                                                                                                                                      
 There you have it, readers, three things you probably shouldn’t do, if you want to be more, you know, awesome.

Shameless plug, if you want to be amazed as I actually update something, follow me on Twitter. @HeyitsSOB

                                                                                                                                                                      

*While writing this sentence, I spit in six bowls of oatmeal and three servings of mashed potatoes. That’s how easy.

**I'd like to formally apologize to my friend who actually said one of those three phrases. I know you were being genuine. I love you and I'm sorry, you're not self important. Except when you are.

***This lesson was taken from a situation that I actually found myself in. It left me feeling extremely dirty and with myriad questions. While my thoughts were rather jumbled as my brain attempted, to no avail, to exit my head with exceeding violence, the one huge question on my (and everyone's) mind was, "Couldn't you, you know, date someone who's vagina doesn't smell like a Dumpster?" Though, I assume his bringing ... that ... up apropos of nothing answered the question well enough at the time.

I'm Going to Talk about Dolls

I know this is a weird post coming from a 20-something male, but I think this subject deserves to be broached. Who better to than a guy in his 20's?

Probably anyone born with lady parts in the last fifty or so years, but who cares? I'm writing this and they aren't. Na na na na boo boo, stick you head in doo doo (or don't, I'd imagine that would be unpleasant... you know, because of the smell [also the consistency]). Is that correct usage of the brackets? As parentheses inside of parentheses?

Well, good thing I started this post off with a bang...

Anyhizzards, the other day, I walked onto my porch after work and immediately flopped down onto the couch. My work, though not terribly difficult (nor is it demanding at all),  tends to, for some reason that is a mystery to me, completely wipe me out. So, I sink deeply into the couch only to find, to my rather pronounced dismay, that the remote control has been placed out of my reach, by at least five inches.


I am a modern Tantalus.

In complete refusal to move my body any amount of inches to retrieve the remote, I looked at the TV which was tuned to Nickelodeon. Nick (as we cool kids call it) used to be a bastion of quality children's programming. They were shows with characters that children could relate to and incorporated humor at which even the parents could snicker in amusement. 


Pictured: Everything great about my childhood.

Now, Nick is home to some of the most banal, uninspired rot that television has to offer*, at least in terms of non-reality shows (shows like Jersey Shore and Teen Mom are in their own special circle of TV hell). I'll admit, I have sat through my fair share of  recent Nick shows (iCarly on more than one occasion has induced a chuckle), but, for the most part, what passes for humor on these shows is an insult to children and adults alike.

Pictured: One reason why the youth are terrible.

But I have seriously digressed, especially since there was no show on.

There was however a commercial for Bratz, a line of dolls who dress inappropriately and have disproportionately large heads and feet for some reason. Also, they have a serious case of fish lips, like the fish that plays the sax in The Little Mermaid. They are hideous and if they were to ever come to life it would be one of the top 6 scariest things I could think of to happen.

They look like aliens from the planet "We Give It Away for Free."

The commercial, though, is what really got to me (besides the body image issues that these dolls probably engender). It wasn't the visual content either, that was just a young girl playing with her doll, standard fare. It was the background music.

This woman was... singing? I mean, she was saying words kind of sing-songy. She was "singing" things like "Fashion!" "Style!" "Girl!" and other random girl-child-centric words. The words made sense in the context of the commercial... kind of, but if you took them out of that context, they would make no sense. Alone, it sounds like the disjointed ramblings of an aging woman strung-the-hell-out on acid lamenting the fact that she didn't make it as a fashion designer. Subliminal messages.

Donatella Versace looks like a Bratz doll.
Coincidence?

Sadly, I can't find that specific commercial, but here is another commercial that does basically the same thing. It's an average commercial of little girls playing with dolls, but the background music is priceless. Though, admittedly, the lyrics are dead on.

I just don't understand where jingles went wrong. Remember this, this, this, and this? All of those songs are quality. Well, maybe not quality, but, lyrics-wise, definitely better than, "Out of bed princess!" and "Quick! Wake up your roommate!"

So, this pretty much turned into a rant about how much better things were when I was a kid. Maybe they were, or maybe I was just so happy about everything back then that all of my rememberances have that dreamy haze quality. I guess we'll never know (the world will never know?).

*Except for Avatar: the Last Airbender. Have you seen that show? It is amazing! ... The Legend of Korra is pretty good too.

The Worst Superheroes Ever?

I have a confession to make.

I am a nerd.

I know what you're thinking, "This guy?! A nerd?!" Anyone reading this wearing a monocle just heard a splash as their eyepiece fell into their champagne. Anyone reading this not wearing a monocle (i.e. everyone I know personally) probably just fell asleep a little during the second sentence because duh.

I began with a small aside to give context to the rest of this post. Obviously not much context, but enough that as a reader, you can think to yourself either, "I am not a nerd, so I'll go watch something on hulu+ instead" or "Tally-ho! I shall continue on what is sure to be an epic quest!"

To business!

I always thought of the Fantastic Four as the leftover night of superhero comics, the extras from every other Lee/Kirby collaboration, everything that Marvel hadn't "eaten up" yet. Punny?

They have the basic structure down, they're just regular people with super powers. They fight and pal around; they have break-ups and make-ups (outs).

These two pretty much cornered the market on make-outs.

A close second.

But, today, I defy you to name one super hero who doesn't. Comics in general have made a move from fanciful tales of unrelatable heroes with black and white morals to relatable antiheroes bathed in grey areas. Long gone are the days when Captain America was busting Nazi skulls just because they were evil threats to the "American Way."

Today, every hero has to have baggage. Even Cap' (tain America, for the uninitiated) had to be depressed up; it was the death of Bucky, his sideckick, that sent him over into real-feelingsville (even though, as it turned out, Bucky's was just a comic book death.) Captain America had to carry around the guilt and whatever! Very sad.

"BUUUUUUUCKYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!"
is a terrible name.

So, as with all modern heroes, the Fantastic Four have baggage. They got their powers by accident and they aren't sure they even want them, they don't always get along, blah, blah, blah.

But wait! I said they had powers! That must be awesome! Right?

Wrong.

Reed Richards (Mr. Fantastic) can stretch really far. That's okay I guess, except that people in real life can do that too. So that goes on a list with things like super accounting and super laundry-folding.

For Justice!*

Now, I realize that most superpowers are basically just amped up versions of actions that people can perform, but I feel like stretching is just so... boring.

He can touch his toes without bending over... so, that's cool... I guess.

Besides boredom, it's been done a million times before (or at least twice.) It's important to note the dates on the two guys in the links, though. The Elongated Man debuted the year before Fantastic Four. Plastic Man? TWENTY YEARS! So, not only is stretching a boring power, it's been used to death!

So, who's next?

Susan Storm (The Invisible Girl) can turn invisible which is useless, unless your foe is also deaf, and project force-fields like Bella in Twilight (except Sue's actually stop physical attacks and not just mental ones.) BOOM! Twilight reference! I went there!

Here is a picture of some guys footballing.
This is to put points back onto my man-card.

Then, there's Johnny Storm (The Human Torch) who besides having a name that is meant for adult cinema, can set himself on fire (by saying, "Flame on" ... um). I'd like that to sink in for a moment. He lights himself on fire. Did you catch that? It's like when your uncle decides it'd be a good idea to shoot off some fireworks in his backyard on the 4th of July.

If your fireworks make it into the air, you're doing it wrong.

Then, there was one. My personal favorite, Ben Grimm (the Thing).

He is super strong and made of rocks. I'll give them this one. He's basically the Hulk with maybe the worst catchphrase in history, "It's clobberin' time!" While maybe cutting edge in '61, in any year after that, it may be one of the least fear-inducing catch-phrases ever.

Besides Tyroc's "Light's, Camera, Blacktion!"**

The Thing is terrifying and ashamed of how he looks, but who cares when "It's clobberin' time!" is what comes out of his mouth right before he punches you. He'd evoke more fear by throwing a basket full of kittens at the criminal.

NOOOOOO!!!

The Thing is literally the only hero in this team that can get any butts kicked, and he has to ruin it with that bit of verbal diarrhea (which is a difficult word to spell, it's like vacuum).

But enough about the heroes, right? The villians have to be fairly awesome to make up for all of that... though, they could be terrible because the team itself couldn't save its way out of a paper bag.

Their arch-nemesis has some great powers. He can... do a lot of awesome stuff. I don't want to write it all here because I'm lazy. If you really want to know, look at that link. Do some homework... Jeez.

But his powers aren't the problem. It's his name... Dr. Doom.

Dr. Doom? Really? Why not call him Terrible McEvildoer and take care of any residual confusion as to whether he's a good guy or bad guy. Dr. Doom is probably just his bad-guy name, like Venom or Mr. Freeze. Right? Nope. His real name is Victor von Doom. He is a genius and acutally has a PhD. His name is actually Dr. Doom. He is also the leader of Latveria.

Looks home-y.

A man with the name Victor von Doom not only got into college, but became the head of a nation. Think about that for a moment. He not only managed to get into college with the last name Doom, but was able to attain and mantain leadership over an entire nation. I have a hard time believing that the manager at McDonalds would hire someone with the last name Doom let alone that people would let that guy stay in office.

You're extremely well qualified... But it's your last name. It's a bit... murder-y.

And, there you have it, what I've always thought about the Fantastic 4. Out on the internet for probably tens of people to read. Thank you, internet.

*As I was searching for pictures of laundry folding, I could only find pictures of women doing the folding. So, I guess great job Google for making folding the laundry sexist. Also, I would like to point out that justice is capitalized because in my mind I thought about superheroes personifying justice. In my mind, that woman folding laundry is folding for Justice the personification, not the abstraction... God, I'm a nerd.

**I realize I went all blacksploitation-y there for a second. But that is Tyroc, who in a quote by Jim Shooter, who tried to introduce a black superhero, "...I always wanted to have a character who was African-American, and years later, when they did that, they did it in the worst way possible....instead of just incidentally having a character who happens to be black...they made a big fuss about it. He's a racial separatist....I just found it pathetic and appalling." So... he was offensive before I got to him.