War Room Lounge v84: RationalPoster said something nice (maybe) about Ruprecht

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Rational Poster said:
Didn't play it I haven't owned a console since like.. xbox 360.
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It's good. Really made me debate forking over the money for a PS4.

Instead of massacring what's left of Mount Olympus he starts fighting Magni and Modi and Baldur.



At the awards that year (Kratos voice actor and the kid that voice acted his son who he calls 'boy' the whole damn game)
 
Rational Poster said:
Didn't play it I haven't owned a console since like.. xbox 360.
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you mean one of the best games of the year wasn't available to the high and mighty oh so superior PC master race?

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MMAisGod said:
Look how late at night these irresponsible go with the flow cheetos on the belly minimal responsibility wake up at noon liberals stay up at night wow. The shamelessness. <DisgustingHHH>
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Idk what time zone you live in but my last post was at 2012 hours. And I’ve been up since 0400.

But idk maybe consider that time zones are a thing. Also shift work.
 
dezzy said:
you mean one of the best games of the year wasn't available to the high and mighty oh so superior PC master race?

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Yeah but my graphics card is better by itself than your entire console and I could have two if I really want.
 
You can play a ton of ps4 games on PC with PSNow.

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dezzy said:
you mean one of the best games of the year wasn't available to the high and mighty oh so superior PC master race?

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<{1-16}>
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Dwarf fortress doesn't run on PC's?
 
Anung Un Rama said:
Saw Motherless Brooklyn tonight.
Ed bit off more than he can chew with this one.
Great story, some well played parts (Baldwin and Defoe were particularly great).
But the directing/ cinematography was weak and the casting was pretty bad - pretty much all of Nortons friends.
And I don’t know if the tick was in the book, but it didn’t play well on screen.
6.5/10
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The ticcing and the names were pretty much all they had of the book, which was set in the late '90s and had a lot on Lionel growing up in the orphange with Gilbert, Tony, and Danny, and nothing at all about Alec Baldwin's character or a jazz club, etc. It's more very loosely inspired by the book than based on it.

Here's the intro:

Context is everything. Dress me up and see. I'm a carnival barker, an auctioneer, a downtown performance artist, a speaker in tongues, a senator drunk on filibuster. I've got Tourette's. My mouth won't quit, though mostly I whisper or subvocalize like I'm reading aloud, my Adam's apple bobbing, jaw muscle beating like a miniature heart under my cheek, the noise suppressed, the words escaping silently, mere ghosts of themselves, husks empty of breath and tone. (If I were a Dick Tracy villain, I'd have to be Mumbles.) In this diminished form the words rush out of the cornucopia of my brain to course over the surface of the world, tickling reality like fingers on piano keys. Caressing, nudging. They're an invisible army on a peacekeeping mission, a peaceable horde. They mean no harm. They placate, interpret, massage. Everywhere they're smoothing down imperfections, putting hairs in place, putting ducks in a row, replacing divots. Counting and polishing the silver. Patting old ladies gently on the behind, eliciting a giggle. Only—here's the rub—when they find too much perfection, when the surface is already buffed smooth, the ducks already orderly, the old ladies complacent, then my little army rebels, breaks into the stores. Reality needs a prick here and there, the carpet needs a flaw. My words begin plucking at threads nervously, seeking purchase, a weak point, a vulnerable ear. That's when it comes, the urge to shout in the church, the nursery, the crowded movie house. It's an itch at first. Inconsequential. But that itch is soon a torrent behind a straining dam. Noah's flood. That itch is my whole life. Here it comes now. Cover your ears. Build an ark.

"Eat me!" I scream.
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Couple more to illustrate it:

"What's that sign?" said Coney. He pointed with his glistening chin at the town house doorway. I looked.

" 'Yorkville Zendo,' " I read off the bronze plaque on the door, and my fevered brain processed the words and settled with interest on the odd one. "Eat me Zendo!" I muttered through clenched teeth.

Gilbert took it, rightly, as my way of puzzling over the unfamiliarity. "Yeah, what's that Zendo? What's that?"

"Maybe like Zen," I said.

"I don't know from that."

"Zen like Buddhism," I said. "Zen master, you know."

"Zen master?"

"You know, like kung-fu master."

"Hrrph," said Coney.

And so after this brief turn at investigation we settled back into our complacent chewing. Of course after any talk my brain was busy with at least some low-level version of echolalia salad: Don't know from Zendo, Ken-like Zung Fu, Feng Shui master, Fungo bastard, Zen masturbation, Eat me! But it didn't require voicing, not now, not with White Castles to unscrew, inspect and devour.
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I don't know whether The Artist Formerly Known As Prince is Tourettic or obsessive-compulsive in his human life, but I know for certain he is deeply so in the life of his work. Music has never made much of an impact on me until the day in 1986 when, sitting in the passenger seat of Minna's Cadillac, I first heard the single "Kiss" squirting its manic way out of the car radio. To that point in my life I might have once or twice heard music that toyed with feelings of claustrophobic discomfort and expulsive release, and which in so doing passingly charmed my Tourette's, gulled it with a sense of recognition, like Art Carney or Daffy Duck -- but here was a song that lived entirely in that territory, guitar and voice twitching and throbbing withing obsessively delineated bounds, alternately silent and plosive. It so pulsed with Tourettic energies that I could surrender to its tormented squeaky beat and let my syndrome live outside my brain for once, live in the air instead.
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A.C. said:
Idk what time zone you live in but my last post was at 2012 hours. And I’ve been up since 0400.

But idk maybe consider that time zones are a thing. Also shift work.
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I tried my hardest to word it in a way that would sound like a clear and obvious joke, but deep down I knew there would be one person who took it seriously.
 
Sometimes I wonder if what I do for a living might hurt my personal relationships. I met a girl last night. Really nice. we talked for a couple hours and exchanged contact information. She was very interested. Maybe this is paranoia but i looked at her facebook and oh man she is really into some left wing stuff. Which I could care less about. But I am really hoping she does not google me and find out I am a prominent gun rights attorneys and gets turned off. I go out of my way to not mention to woman what i do for a living but there is not much I can do about Reuters or all the other news outlets that cover my work.
 
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