Nick Is All Done Listing His Favorite Video Games

I'd like to publish another collection of comedic stories in due time. My plan is to write 50 or 60 of the things and choose the best 40 for inclusion in the book.

There is no chance "Favorite Video Games" will make the cut. It will become like a runt in the litter and I'll have to drown it—as was done in the crueler times of bygone eras.

I am resigned to all of that and look forward to finishing this countdown so that I can write something that appeals to a wider range of readers. But in my defense, I usually try to somehow relate the video game to a band, song, TV show, movie, or actual happenings in my life that are in some way interesting.

And maybe that's the problem...

Yikes.

This list is now part albatross, part marathon. It's an albothon, really. An albothon occurs when it feels like you're running a marathon with an albatross around your neck, when in reality you've just been sitting on your ass the entire time, either writing or playing video games.

Actually, to tell you the truth, I think that is a pretty appealing lifestyle.


14.Super Punch-out for SNES: Some are bound to bicker that the 1st Punch-out is superior—but that is hogwash. The NES version is certainly more challenging, as the 8-bitters tend to be, but Super Punch-out is loaded with far superior graphics, an upgraded super-punch system, and better controls. Why deny its merits just because it's not the originator? The Empire Strikes Back (Episode V) is more captivating and suspenseful than A New Hope (Episode IV), isn't it, nerds? Sequels don't typically surpass originals, but sometimes it happens. Purists need to realize there are exceptions to most every rule, and Super Punch-out exemplifies that.

Turning Little Mac, the diminutive underdog, transparent for the fighting at 1st seems like a quirky choice by the designers, but this visual touch allows for a better view of the player's wily and comical opponent, making it easier to measure up the likes of Bald Bull and Mr. Sandman.

Aside from eternal loser Gabby Jay, each opponent provides a puzzle of attacks and dodges to be deciphered through trial-and-error. The thrilling challenge of Super Punch-out is the way Little Mac is ALWAYS over-matched. He is bereft of brutal gimmicks like the Exercise Programs of Super Macho Man and he must play by the rules—unlike the fat clown who spits blinding seltzer water and the ancient Japanese mystic who inflicts chunks of damage with strikes from his wooden cane. Little Mac has inferior strength, speed, and versatility; he must use his wits and perfect timing to defeat all 16 fighters in the game.

He is the Underdog Spoon so melodically warned us about. Rick and Nick Bruiser had no fear of the Underdog. That's why they did not survive.

13.Grand Theft Auto: Vice City for PS2: The first GTA for PS2 broke more ground than its successor, but Vice City is a bit more ambitious. With voice-acting contributions from stars like Ray Liotta, Burt Reynolds, and Dennis Hopper, more weapons and vehicles to choose from, an expanded soundtrack, and an even broader 3-D landscape in which to stir up homicidal mischief, I once more give the edge—by less than the width of a fingernail—to the sequel.

As usual, no cops, hookers, or drug lords were harmed in the production or playing of this Grand Theft Auto title. It's funny how the same conservative zealots who condemn violence in video games (oftentimes) don't mind actual wars or budget cuts that come at the expense of the education system. In 20 years, when Grand Theft Auto: Rampage in the Vatican is released for Playstation 5, our culture will still embrace fully interactive malice, but I worry that America's kids may become too dumb to discern fantasy from real life. That is a gripe, however, to expound on at a different time.

Oh, and in the interest of citing a separate snippet from pop-culture to accompany this Vid, give a listen to the Geto Boys' “Damn, It Feels Good to be a Gangsta.” Mind-numbing and stifling jobs like the one Peter Gibbons had in Office Space are a primary reason why grown men turn to violent video games, by the way. Who wouldn't crave a simulated killing spree after another long day of squandering life away in a cubicle for a paycheck, at the mercy of phony greed-mongers in dapper pink shirts?

There is a chance I'm getting my wires crossed on this one, but I doubt it. If that is the case, though, let it be known that I played a lot of GTA and watched Office Space many times in college, and so the two will forever seem linked.

12. Tony Hawk's Pro-Skater 3 for PS2: No title in its genre has ever sensationalized the sport to such an absurd extent to the delight of so many gamers. The only thing realistic about Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3 is the excitement. A 90-second flurry of kick-flips, shove-its, dark-slide grinds, Benihana 720s, and unifying manuals in an airport is truly inconceivable, and yet real skateboarders hardly minded; rather than abhor the lack of realism, they embraced the fantasy, and those of us who are dismissed as hapless klutzes when stepping foot on a four-wheeled platform felt the exact same way.

Harmony was achieved between (sometimes aspiring) professionals and hopeless novices. There is no call for realism in THPS3, no purists to spoil the fun. It's the video game equivalent of a Jawbreaker show in which the band members and the audience alike levitate high above the ground for 90 minutes in blissful defiance of the laws of gravity.

11.Mariokart: Double Dash for Gamecube: In an essay called “The Type who Craves Punishment,” I related sessions of Mariokart: 64 to sadomasochism and ill-fated relationships. This installment of Kart is slightly superior to the one I devoted so much thought to.

The same delightful pitfalls that apply to the 64 version—delusions of persecution and blitzes of anarchy—apply to Double Dash as well. The graphics are more refined, though, and there are more characters in the mix, and the added gimmick of two Nintendo legends per Kart truly benefits the series. And a special attack unique to each driver is an extra perk.

I highly recommend this Vid, especially if you can find 4 controllers for the obsolete Gamecube. I had better stop raving about it because I have no doubt exceeded a reasonable amount of words an (ideally) self-respecting writer should devote to the Mariokart series.

10. Donkey Kong Country for SNES: First Donkey Kong was a villain who took a cue from Bowser and kidnapped a Princess he presumably intended to rape, sadly, and then he was a slovenly gorilla who wore a wife-beater as a forgettable option in the original Mariokart, and then it was decided by some graphically gifted geek at Rareware that he should become a hero paired with an athletic but small monkey in a vibrant red cap and crusade against an evil crocodile in my absolute favorite side-scrolling platform Vid.

Makes sense to me!

Donkey Kong represents the career arc of Brett Favre from a Vikings fan's perspective. For so long he was a nemesis, but the mutations that come with time elapsed turned him into a beloved figure. No one thought it was possible, but conversely, only a fool would have deemed it impossible.

And I don't want to hear any bunk contentions that Donkey Kong Country 2 is the superior version. Despite its merit, it's like an album by the Beatles with no input whatsoever from John Lennon...what would I call that? Oh yeah, a Paul McCartney solo album—which no doubt boasts some chops, hooks, and pop pizzazz, but simply doesn't measure up to feats that have already been done.

9. Metal Gear Solid: Sons of Liberty for PS2: How many Metal Gears must the player destroy at the end of this epic crusade of stealth and combat? The answer is a shit-load. The game keeps going after that test of prowess with a rocket launcher, too. After all those Metal Gears are blown up, you still have to slay some nasty brute named Solidus in a sword fight. Let's rewind now: Before all of THAT, in the span of a long, long time of gaming, this Vid is positively stuffed with action. (Battles with a vampire and an elusive jet that shoots missiles, hasty bomb-disarmings, killing a fat guy on roller-skates, choking henchmen to death and then dragging their bodies away so they can't be found by other henchmen who want to tattle on you...oh, the list goes on.)

Some fans of the series were disappointed about someone other than Solid Snake--a blond codenamed Raiden--serving as the central character for 3-quarters of this masterpiece.

What follows is by no means an airtight analogy, and I'm not crazy about AC/DC, either, but here goes nothing: Raiden is to Brian Johnson as Solid Snake is to Bon Scott. Johnson took over for Scott as the lead singer of AC/DC in 1980 after Scott got disastrously drunk and choked on his own vomit. The success of AC/DC did not diminish when Johnson joined the band. Quite the opposite: Highway to Hell, Scott's swan song, established AC/DC as a powerful force in hard rock, but Back in Black, with Johnson on lead screeches, catapulted the band into newfound popularity.

Such is the relationship between Raiden and Solid Snake—although Solid Snake didn't actually DIE in SOL, and I'd be the last one to argue that Raiden nailed as many loose women as Brian Johnson.

8. Super Mario for N-64: Remember when I wrote that Donkey Kong Country is my favorite SIDE-SCROLLING platform game? Good times. Well, this is my favorite platform game (period). Super Mario in 3 dimensions--aided by an arsenal of innovative jumps and an adjustable camera perspective that revolutionized gaming--remains a superb achievement.

Perhaps my most noteworthy feat as a button-mashing addict is collecting all 120 stars in this Vid. For what it's worth, I earned the right to shoot Mario out of a cannon on the front lawn of Princess Peach's estate onto the roof of her castle, where Yoshi offered words of congratulations.

“You know you could've stopped playing this game once you defeated Bowser for the umpteenth time, right?” I recall Yoshi saying. “You rescued the Princess awhile ago. Now you're just jerking off. I mean...JESUS, you're so pale and skinny. You should go outside and lift some weights in the sunshine.

“So pale,” Yoshi added, shaking his head in dismay.

7. Goldeneye 007 for N-64: All that really needs to be written about lucky number 7 on our countdown is that it's still my favorite first-person shooter—in both single and multi-player modes. It is not without competition from the likes of Time Splitters, CoDBO, and Perfect Dark, but the urge to equate the Orleans pop song “Still the One” (as in “Still the one that can scratch my itch”) to Goldeneye is stubbornly lodged deep in my brain. And I'm okay with that.

My favorite character to pick in multi-player shoot-outs is Baron Samadi, the sinister and mysterious voodoo priest--mostly to counteract someone else's selection of that half-pint creep Odd-job. The Baron's height allows for easier head-shots on the wee nuisance.

Now you know!

6. WWF: No Mercy for N-64: As I stated before, I like to kick ass. Seriously. But only when the violence is entirely make-believe. The most fitting case in point for this adage has got to be a Vid based on the farcical spectacle of pro-wrestling.

It's NEVER been real to me, dammit! But what does that matter? I don't watch the bogus pageant of tough guys on TV anymore, but I'll still play the video games for the N-64. They're so much fun.

The outstanding create-a-wrestler feature has allowed me to pit Abraham Lincoln, football coach Mike "I'm a Man, I'm 40" Gundy, Walker of Texas Ranger fame, and Principal Blackman from Strangers with Candy against each other in a Royal Rumble. I do love phony violence between historical figures and TV characters and such. It really tickles me silly.


5. Tecmo Super Bowl for NES: Trouncing the computer 49-7 is par for the course in the early weeks of a Tecmo Super Bowl season. The opposing secondary is lethargic and constantly vulnerable to deep passes from the likes of Joe Montana or Dan Marino to Jerry Rice or Mark Clayton. The running back you control on sweeps toward the bottom of the screen, whether he is Barry Sanders (legend) or Reggie Cobb (a bit of a scrub, no offense, Reggie), seems two steps faster than the computer's pursuing linebackers. But that lavish ease comes to an end toward season's end, and when playoff time comes, you really have to fight and scrap and focus on every single play. Hoisting that Lombardi Trophy at the culmination of the Super Bowl is no easy task (without a little help from the RESET button).

Tecmo could really fuck you over in the playoffs. The computer's drones run faster and break more tackles than your guys. An overpaid slouch could easily break two 50-yard touchdown runs if you break containment or miss wildly on a diving Superman tackle. Your receivers are commonly covered in the playoffs, which prompts mad scrambles for yardage and risky throws into traffic.

It's a wonderful yet frustrating challenge, and I have prevailed a handful of times without ever having to punch the reset button in an outburst of rage.

Being an elite Tecmo player in your neighborhood doesn't mean what it used to. I'm fine with that in part because of a jesting scenario my friend, a married 28-year-old with a baby daughter, outlined for me that made me laugh hard.

If a child of his ever asks for a new video game system for Xmas, he will most likely purchase the thing, but he will present it in a box sheathed in decorative wrapping. He will then plug in his Nintendo, crack open the first beer in a 6-pack and grunt to his elated and expectant child...

“You can't open that 'til you beat daddy in a game of Tecmo.”

Hope for the future.

4. Which Ever Madden Football Game Is the Most Recent for PS2: I'm leery of the more modern system's Madden Football Vids, but I'm contently hooked on the PS2 versions. I'm nuts about them, and never you mind what my record against a good friend in the Super Bowl is. It's so woeful that I can't bear to see it typed on the computer screen. I'm a Pro-Bowler who loses to an All-Pro 9 times out of 10. I am to Madden Football what the Buffalo Bills were to real football in the early '90s. Like a half-wit Cubs fan deluded by the power of hope, I am left to renew my faith in next year's prospects.

It's all very fitting and comically appealing, but sometimes I can't help but wonder if redemption is really out of the question. I hope not—in matters both major and minor, both genuine and fickle.

3. Resident Evil for PS1: When Survival Horror reared its decrepit, ugly head into the worlds of gamers, peering with vacant malice from behind a creaking opened door, we were thrilled to obliterate that head with a shot-gun blast and beg for more. Resident Evil features elements of treasure-hunting for keys and artifacts to extend the quest and puzzle-solving to compliment the game's primary focus of pumping lead into zombies and other bloodthirsty monsters. Ammo is limited. But there is no shortage of Evil residents in a mansion with a research facility in the basement. And therein lies the challenge...along with getting lost in the intricate rat maze and not knowing what to do or where to go next.

And Hey, don't kid yourself: the malevolent experiment in the laboratory, the Tyrant, is no slouch. And don't even get me started on the giant snake the player must twice defeat. Fighting that behemoth serpent is no day at the beach, either...which is actually ideal for gamers like me who don't get all that much sun, anyway.

In the unlikely event of zombie Armageddon, I'll be fully prepared to decapitate those evil fuckers that were once mortals, and I have Resident Evil to thank.

2.NBA Jam or NBA Jam T.E., it doesn't really matter which for SNES: We've already covered this on fistpumps. I think there's another analogy about Star Wars movies somehow relating to video games.

Get a load of the May, '08 archives for more elaboration than you bargained for.

1.Resident Evil 4 for PS2/ Gamecube: The end is in sight, so I'll keep this brief. I love the addition of the laser-sight on every weapon. The knife can even be used as an effective weapon in moderation to conserve ammo. The over-the-should perspective is a transformation in Resident Evil camera perspective that actually works wonders and breathes new life into re-killing zombies with precision.

I love the weapon upgrade system, of collecting loot and using said loot to enhance and modify all sorts of guns. The zombies are more dangerous; some of them run, some are armed with axes, torches, or chainsaws, some of them shoot crossbows and cannons. The fourth installment introduces an advanced breed of zombies into the mix.

This Vid is challenging but not impossible. The Mercenary Mode, earned following completion of the game, adds another 2 or 3 months of engaging fun and gory mischief.

Let me be clear: It's my favorite, my absolute favorite.

Game over.

Continue?

Yes or No?

No.

Nick Again Lists His Favorite Video Games

For what it's worth, we know that although I enjoy video games, I'm not fond of the roll-playing genre. A friend from college jokingly took exception to my dissing of an RPG for Super Nintendo titled Chrono Trigger.

“What in the hell is a 'Chrono Trigger,' anyway?” I wrote. “A robotic clitoris?”

It occurs to me now that, having a game called Super Metroid on my precious countdown makes me guilty of hypocrisy. Someone could just as easily scoff...

“What in the hell is a 'Super Metroid,' anyway? A robotic anal fissure?”

Instant Karma got me again. John Lennon warned me about that. My apologies, Rick, and thanks for reading.


20. Marvel: Ultimate Alliance for X-Box 360: From the apparent perspective of an aloft owl fitted with a helmet-cam, a quartet of interchangeable superheroes prowl through 3-D landscapes as diverse as the Villain's Fortress Stronghold and the Super-Villain's Fortress Stronghold. The goal of these superheroes is to clobber Evildoers into comas. In addition to traditional means of punching & kicking, the superheroes also have weapons such as swords, sharp claws, and guns—and many possess mutant powers like the ability of flight, superhuman strength, and eyes that shoot laser beams. This litany of ways to inflict pain is all done in the name of Justice; the Evildoers, eternal foes of the superheroes, must always be punished for the malice they reap on the Innocent.

It is a familiar story—marred perhaps by rampant clichés and adventures that become as predictable as the workweek routines that get us by—and the story extends beyond video games, of course. But it is also an ESSENTIAL story, one we'll never be rid of, for reasons both realistic and fantastical. Marvel: Ultimate Alliance is a highly effective rerun of the Tale of Good versus Evil.

East of Eden, the brilliant retelling of the fable of Cain and Able by John Steinbeck, concerns the nature of Good & Evil, too. But even a mind that likens Bionic Commando to the White Stripes can see that Steinbeck offered the realistic inclusions of moral ambiguity and human fallibility into his story. Superheroes are different. Their appeal is fantastical in the sense that their crusades are not subjected to such concerns. Captain America embodies all that is Good and Dr. Doom embodies all that is Evil. There is no Gray Area of Moral standing in video games inspired by comic books.

What a relief! But at the expense of literacy and understanding of how the real world works, of course.

As a thoughtless post-script, I would like to mention that I believe the 4 superheroes to choose to maximize the group's ass-kicking potential in MUA are as follows: Wolverine, Spiderman, Deadpool, and Iron Man.

No offense intended, Ms. Marvel. It's just that, you know...you're a WOMAN.

19.Ken Griffey Jr. Presents Major League Baseball for SNES...And a fine Presentation it was, Mr. Griffey Jr. It's way better than the finest thing I've ever presented: A lifetime achievement award to you, Junior, for single-handedly designing and creating this terrific Vid—not to mention dropping some funky bass lines on the infectious soundtrack.

Ken Griffey Jr. did not return my phone calls or fan letters and therefore did not make an appearance at the ceremony in my brother's attic, but a plastic robot I call Professor Radington was there to accept the award on his behalf.

Such nonsense.

The soundtrack really is incredible. And the controls allow for fluidity and technique on ground-balls and fly-outs; a skillful Jr. player could negate 2 or 3 extra base-hits with a quick jump and a perfectly timed dive or leap. Pitching is simple and, by today's standards, obsolete, but semblances of change-ups, sliders, curveballs, and of course fastballs could be thrown with great effectiveness. Hitting is even simpler, but requires subtleties of timing and location relative to the plate.

It's a sweet Vid, but my appetite for playing it has been sated. The only way I'll ever play it again is if some chump challenges me to a game.

Yeah. You heard what I typed, would-be challenger.


18.Super Smash Brothers for N-64: For every Ocarina of Time-caliber game for the 64, there are at least two Castlevania: Symphony of the Night(s) for the Playstation. This means that, concerning one-player quests, PS1 definitely has the edge over Nintendo-64. But the 64 counters with a much deeper array of multi-player classics, and Super Smash Brothers is a fine example. Between the two, I'd opt for a Playstation in the all-important “stranded on a deserted island with a power source” scenario, but only because it is implied that I'm all alone on said deserted island. If the Gilligan's Island technicality can be employed, however, then I'd much rather order Donkey Kong to execute a break-dance double-kick on the wing of Starfox's ship to inflict damage on Samus, Kirby, and Mario (under the respective control of the Professor, Ginger, and the Skipper).

It's that simple.

The single-player mode for SSB is easy and a bit repetitive, worthy of a B- grade, and the skill challenges afterward are fairly fun, but make no mistake: If you honestly have NO FRIENDS to play with, this game loses most of its appeal...and I'm sorry to hear about your life.

But I had friends to play SSB with, fortunately, and that is what made this game so great. Every match ignited cartoon bedlam, a frenzy of Nintendo icons out to clobber each other for reasons unknown and immaterial.

It's still an addictive Vid today, too. If all parties involved are drunk and/ or stoned and not expecting sex or the needs of others in the near future, one match with 4 players can easily turn into a 3-Hour Tour*.

The original Super Smash Brothers: It's the next best thing to having a 3-way with Ginger & Mary Ann.

17. Super Mario All-Stars for SNES: One of my shrewdest moves as a child and budding consumer was to ask for Super Mario All Stars for Xmas, circa '93. All 3 of Mario's quests for Nintendo are included on just one cartridge, with enhanced graphics--and the Lost Levels were thrown in just to sweeten the deal. Do the math. It was well-worth the cash mom & dad shelled out to keep my brothers and me happily busy after school for the entirety of a cold and snowy winter in Wisconsin.

It's a shame Billy Mays missed his chance to peddle SMAS on infomercials that would have aired 2 hours after broadcasts of Saturday Night Live. Billy's untimely death in 2009 has left me to ponder the effusive sales-pitch he never got to belt out in promotion of such a wondrous cartridge...

“For just ONE EASY PAYMENT of $49.99, you can RELIVE all of MARIO and the Gang's THRILLING ADVENTURES in the Mushroom Kingdom and Beyond. If you liked the sight of Mario in 8-bit, YOU'RE GONNA LOVE HIM IN 16-BIT! Whether you want to FLATTEN KOOPA TROOPAS, shoot FIREBALLS, dig a hole in the sand QUICKLY with TOAD, JUMP over a bottomless pit and GRAB hold of a FLAG-POLE to slide down, knock BOWSER and his entire FAMILY into PITS OF LAVA, or dress up like a RACCOON and take flight to COIN HEAVEN, you'll find all the ACTION YOUR HEART DESIRES in just ONE VIDEO GAME!

“CALL NOW and we'll include the LOST LEVELS FREE OF CHARGE. Or call later and we'll STILL give it away! SWING YOUR ARMS from side to side in CLELEBRATION and call to order your copy of SUPER MARIO ALL-STARS today!”

Thank you, spirit of Billy Mays. And thank you Nintendo for offering so much bang-for-my-parents'-bucks all those years ago.

16.Super Metroid for SNES: I didn't own this one as a kid, and when I played it at a friend's house, the struggle vexed me and in no time I passed the controller back and looked on in awe at the stunning graphics, innovative weapons, and level design of an eerie underground labyrinth that harbored all sorts of deadly alien creatures.

A decade later, in my early-20s, burdened by the excess of projects and classes of senior year and harassed by the recurring thought of so much hard work being squandered on so many unhappy lives, mine included, I plunged into a deep depression, a ghastly funk of psychosis, and dropped out for a semester.

I lived at home and worked 3 or 4 days a week frying chicken at Ma & Pa's Grocery Express. The first few weeks were miserable, but in time my interest in the things life had to offer—major and minor, genuine and fickle—began to seem at least a little bit worthwhile, and I finally conquered Super Metroid.

It remains a feat of relatively little merit—a feat to be scoffed at, perhaps, by Super Bowl Champions and winners of the Slam-Dunk Contest, but I'm proud of how I mustered the 16-bit gusto required to defeat all sorts of vile monstrosities from outer space—Mother Brain included—and escaped the planet before it blew up.

Deciding to conquer Super Metroid and following through actually holds magnitude to me. It was a way to prove I was interested in something rather than nothing when times were bleak.

15.A tie between the arcade versions of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, X-Men, and The Simpsons: These three get lobbed together because they were so similar in terms of genre, control, and appeal. All three allow for four friends to direct their beloved cartoon characters on ass-stomping quests across vast side-scrolling landscapes. In all three arcade classics, short-range attacks and jumps are the linchpins of button commands. As for further controls, the Ninja Turtles can do a quick but effective vertical jump-strike, the X-Men have mutant powers such as Cyclops' optic beam blast, and The Simpsons can join up for outrageous co-op moves. Aside from those minor differences, they are in essence one and the same.

I have fond memories of plugging fistfuls of quarters into these arcade games at pizzerias, truck stops, and skating rinks. They were much more fun to play with three friends.

To my bucket list, I'd like to add that someday I'd get a kick out of playing any of these three with an all-star team of three pals while Tenacious D's “Friendship” blares on the stereo on repeat for an hour.

“Oh shit, there's a bear/ Could you hand me that shotgun, buddy?/ Also, that chair.”

And “I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?”--Stephen King, The Body

Okay. That's it for tonight. On your way home, if you're gonna drive, don't drink, and if you're gonna drink, don't drive.

*A 3-hour tour.

Nick Lists His Favorite Video Games

The primary reason why I'm opting to write a piece that presents my Obsessive-Compulsive love of video games is because I need a simpler alternative to an essay I'm working on about my friend's fear of snakes. The essay also deals with ideas such as Original Sin, the consciences of humorists as compared to moralists, and Indiana Jones. I am having trouble piecing the whole thing together, but eventually the kidney stone that has become “Fear of Snakes” will pass. Until then, I offer this less thought-provoking & more arcane piece and vow to go down swinging under the weight of the geeky gravity of it all.

It's obvious that at some point I was going to do this—given that I tend to write so much about myself, admit to playing video games with great regularity, and have displayed a penchant for perhaps reading too much into obscure topics. This is a Top 28 list because I will soon be turning that age. While some may insist that I'm too old to squander my efforts on a sophomoric list of video games, my rebuttal is that at least I didn't wait until my twilight years to vent such a silly list. I'd hate to one day bore kids in my senile stupor with tales of entering the Konami code to gain 30 extra lives in the original Contra. Aging for so long only to jabber neurotic madness like that to dumbstruck children would almost certainly get me locked up in one of the crooked nursing homes featured on 60 Minutes.*

So. Please don't complain that I'm too old to do what I'm about to do. Rejoice, instead, the fact that I got it out of my system before it was too late.

Honorable Yet Spiteful Mentions

My list of favorite video games wouldn't be complete without a list of titles that almost made the list due to reasons ranging from “I wasn't any good at it” to “I wasn't any good at it, acknowledge its (relative) importance, but still despise it with even the most compassionate cells in my body.”

Battletoads: In the early 90s, kids were driven into a greedy consumer frenzy that their parents paid for by anthropomorphic amphibians who went on wild adventures involving the clobbering of evildoers. Every lunch-box, action figure, beach towel, Halloween costume, t-shirt, or video game that featured an ass-kicking amphibian who acted human was in high-demand. The brunt of the buzz was generated by the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, but the appeal of said amphibians was so expansive that a knock-off of the absurdly fantastical Ninja Turtles somehow became not merely a luxury but a NECESSITY to needy children hoarding in on mom and dad's disposable income.

Battletoads was the Kick citrus drink to the Jolt Cola offered first by the Ninja Turtles. Whether or not that analogy makes any sense to you is almost irrelevant; just know that all four had the same effect on nerves and brain cells.

The problem with Battletoads for the Nintendo Entertainment System was that completion of the 3rd level was far too difficult. The game is outstanding until the toad on-two-feet under your control gets behind the wheel of a hovercraft in a cavern of cell membranes. Of the roughly ten people I have talked to about this level, only one has conquered it. Kudos to Mike for jumping over every last one of the cement barriers that stood in his path and then somehow making that obscenely long jump at the very end. You're a National Treasure, buddy.

Not many were blessed with Mike's prowess playing Battletoads. The rest of us petty mortals met our demise at the end of level 3 and grew up to be the callow degenerates we are today.


Dr. Mario: Oh, man...you were such a cool upgrade of Tetris and your soundtrack was terrifically catchy. Why did you have to make me feel like such a dunce?

Bionic Commando: There were only two main action buttons, A and B, for most every Nintendo game. In Bionic Commando, one button triggered a grapple hook, while the other shot a bazooka. It cannot be overstated how bad-ass I thought that was in 1989. With that cutting edge virtue of maximizing the potential of minimalism, BC is the 8-bit equivalent to the White Stripes—though I'm not sure if Meg on drums represents the grapple hook or the bazooka.

Guitar Hero: I have embodied the essence of Human Failure every time I have tried my hands at this “innovation of gaming.” I struggle with precisely timing that moment of synchronization between the guitar-button** and the colorful land mines on the neck of the guitar AD NAUSEAM.

But that hardly matters. I despise the very IDEA of Guitar Hero. In short, if you want to listen to music, put on a record or CD or start up an I-pod. If you want to play a video game, grab a normal controller and use it to move your character and cause him to run, jump, shoot, and so forth. If you want to play music, grab hold of a real instrument. There is no cause for a cheap compromise of the three to defile music, video games, and instruments.

Fuck Rock Band, too. It likewise causes far too many people to feel good about themselves for no good reason.

And These Gems Got Snubbed Because I Came Up with This Idea Now and Not When I Turned 38...

X-Men 2: Clone Wars
Arch Rivals
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Manhattan Project
Double Dragon II
Lethal Enforcers (Came with a plastic gun that was sweeter than original Zapper and paved the way for Time Crisis.)
Uniracers
Contra III: The Alien Wars
Starfox 64
Die Hard Trilogy 
Wii Sports

Roll-Playing Games To Make the Countdown...
None. Honestly, what in the hell is a Chrono Trigger, anyway? A robotic clitoris? And how many times have you been told the latest one will really be the FINAL Fantasy, only to be lied to yet again?

The Real Top 28

28. Streets of Rage 2 for Sega: It makes sense to start with this side-scrolling beat-'em-up for two reasons. First off, this is the only Sega game on my list. For sheer volume of stellar cartridges, Super Nintendo owned Sega. When the truly great ones were counted at year's end, SNES always dominated. Picture a happily soused Mario dunking that flea-ridden hedgehog's head into a toilet to celebrate every New Year from 1989 to 1994. That's a fitting visual to summarize the idea.

Streets of Rage 2 is a rare exception to the trend. From the 16-bit era, it's the most satisfying game of the genre that was all about walking from left to right through a seedy ghetto and pummeling the shit out of ugly henchmen. SNES titles such as Final Fight, Brawl Brothers, and even Batman Returns, a game I really enjoyed, can't quite compete with Streets of Rage 2.

Secondly, this video game establishes a recurring theme in the ensuing list: I like to kick some ass. Seriously. But only when the violence is entirely make-believe.

27. Castlevania for NES: From what I gather, the Grim Reaper and Dracula, the final 2 bosses in Castlevania, are no pushovers, but I have never ascended so steeply up that rotten bloodsucker's castle. That stated, I still had a blast whipping oncoming ghouls and heaving axes at the large bat that blocked entry to level 2.

Castlevania also established that Vids with elements of horror can be widely appealing.

I made it all the way to level 4 on the arcade version on just 2 quarters. This happened at a cousin's wedding reception at the banquet hall in Mt. Calvary, WI. I was too old to gulp down kiddy cocktails before baseball-sliding across the dance floor, too young to chug beer and gamble on the March Madness match-up on TV, bored and caught in adolescent limbo...and Simon Belmont showed up and whipped a somewhat dismal time into shape.

26. Blades of Steel for NES: Over 20 years after its release, Blades still stands as my favorite hockey Vid. It boasts a nearly perfect balance between arcade and simulation styles in a sports game. The goalie control feature was tricky at first, but added the perk of personally stonewalling your buddy's slap-shot if you devoted enough time to Blades. The passing is crisp, the body-checks lead to wild howling, and the brawls provide ten intense seconds of bliss (as long as you weren't the chump who got flogged and sent to the penalty box).

25. Twisted Metal 2 for PS1: Even though the controls were a bit shaky and the Moscow level was designed with a stifling lack of imagination, the notion of a wide array of rival vehicles equipped with machine guns, missile launchers, and flame throwers was pretty damn cool. The high-speed duels between Cadillac, ice-cream truck, bulldozer, dune-buggy, etc. were enough to leave your eyeballs puking and begging for more.

It is worth noting that, aside from those Snubbed, this is the 1st game to make the list that I have actually conquered. Suck on that, Dark Tooth.

24. Silent Hill for PS1: Not only is Silent Hill the most frightening Vid I've ever played—far scarier than any Resident Evil title—it is also more frightening than 90% of the horror movies I have seen. In Resident Evil, a virus of the T variety is unleashed that leads to zombies running amok inside a well-lit mansion. In Silent Hill, an entire town is engulfed by the nefarious power of Paranormal Activity, transforming the town's populace into demons that lurk in darkness. On the fear scale: Demons outrank zombies, especially when the zombies are easily spotted while the demons are made visible only by the meager beam of a flashlight.

Controlling the poor geek of a protagonist can be frustrating; sometimes the pitiable dad charges and smacks into a wall before stumbling backward in a hapless impression of Gomer Pile. Excluding the vivid cut-scenes, the graphics left something to be desired, too; everything you trained your flashlight on had a look of grainy murkiness to it.

But Silent Hill isn't about tight controls or pristine graphics. Its “defects” only added to the panic, suspense, and horror of the dreary crusade. The game's intent is to spook the bejesus out of you—for REAL, and it succeeds.

23. Call of Duty: Black Ops for PS3: This marks the only Playstation 3 Vid to make the list, but the system itself is not to blame for that. Nope. A matter of Insufficient Funds has precluded me from indulging much in the likes of the most recent installments of God of War and Metal Gear.

I have played CoDBO for perhaps a total of 4 hours at a friend's house—exclusively the 6-on-6 team death-matches on-line. It's a thrill to prowl the landscape of what looks like the estate of a Columbian cocaine mogul with an assault rifle and notch a long-distance head-shot on some acne-ridden stranger who just got home from school.

I try to fulfill the role of a quality 6th man on a playoff-bound NBA team when I play CoDBO. I almost certainly won't rack up 20+ points/ kills. There is always a Kobe Bryant to contribute that on any victorious CoDBO squad—and it sure as hell isn't me. But I have been known to chip in with a solid 10-6 or 12-10 kill-death ratio. Like Ron Artest of the defending Champion Lakers, I'm just happy when I don't sabotage the success of the team.

22. The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time for N64: Nine times out of ten when I spit at the mirror in disgust, it is because I am recalling that I have never conquered a single title in the Zelda franchise. I came the closest in Ocarina, completed the first 24 or so miles of the sprawling marathon, but never quite made that final stride to step on the throat of Gannon.

From what I remember, the underwater castle that adult Link ventures into marked the point where not even a tell-all player's guide could save me. That is where the puzzles became too vexing and a shrewd and frantic replica of Link cut me down again and again.

I nonetheless squeezed dozens of hours of enjoyment out of Ocarina. Concerning looks, it's one to marvel at for the 64. Achievements were made when key weapons and items were hoisted triumphantly out of treasure chests. Swords, shields, bombs, boomerangs, bows, potions, and grapple hooks needed to be upgraded along the journey in order to conquer the most recent/ daunting in a seemingly endless succession of castles and dungeons.

With its slow and quiet buildup into an epic work of intrigue that abounds with themes of transformation, and childhood nostalgia, I may not be entirely loopy when I claim that this is the video game equivalent to Pink Floyd's “Shine on You Crazy Diamond.”

21. Mortal Kombat II for SNES: The original didn't include enough playable characters. The third installment didn't provide the player with enough time to execute a post-win Fatality and some other stuff was wrong with it, too. MKII is definitely the best of the three, and the main reason this game is on the list instead of worthier titles like Soul Caliber and maybe even Super Street Fighter Turbo is because its controversial and gaudy brutality has always tickled me.

Along with Doom, MKII was criticized by conservatives who fretted that 12-year-olds should not bare witness to the gory sight of a ninja with a razor-brimmed hat slicing a Jean Claude Van Damm lookalike in half with one mighty swipe. Transforming into a huge dragon before chomping off Sub-Zero's torso and decapitating Raiden were also frowned upon by stuffy moralists.

Just as Itchy & Scratchy made advancements for cartoon violence, MKII likewise answered the question “How bloody can video games be?” with a brash “Much bloodier.” In this analogy, I embody the killer mouse while my friend Mike and his frenzy of jump-kicks fulfills the role of the perpetually butchered cat.

I am now pressing the pause button on the Top 28. The rest of the list will be completed soon. In the meantime, the suspense promises to be middling.

*I know I swiped the last part of this sentence from an episode of The Simpsons! I'm vacillating between trying and mailing it in on this one.

** The very coupling of the words “guitar” and “button” that Guitar Hero is responsible for indicates the dumb fraudulence of the game itself. At best, guitars don't have buttons. At worst, guitars shouldn't have buttons.

Grunk Gets Ink Done

What’s up, bro? I’m thrilled you’re open so late. It goes to show: you never know when a freak like me is going to crave some fresh ink in the wee hours of the morning. Kudos to you, Skaz, for knowing what appeals to your customers.

Up until an hour ago, I had no pressing urge to get a tattoo tonight. Then I found a couple blue-and-gold pills on the men’s room floor after a Tool concert. On the way home, riding the el-train, all these rad ideas for tatts shot into my brain, one after another—real vivid, like beams of color in a laser-light show.

I could taste vibes, too—good and bad, one flavored like butterscotch and the other battery acid.

Anyway, I turned to my old lady—say hi to Skaz, Tina—and told her we had to stop at Fullerton ‘cause I was going to explode if I didn’t soon feel the throbbing buzz of the needle on my back. She understood.

I jotted down some ideas in this notepad. I mostly use it to doodle in. Get a load of this one. Pretty erotic stuff, don’t you think? Darth Mal motor-boating Wonder Woman. What really makes me hard is that you can tell they’re in love. For awhile I wanted this scene to be my next tattoo. It seemed like the perfect imagery for my relationship with Tina. But then I broke up with her and started dating another chick named Tina. And Tina here really has more of a Batgirl figure, as you can see. So I had to scratch that idea.

But that hardly matters when I consider the thoughts for tatts I committed to paper on the train. With your help, Skaz, I’ll have one of the following sights carved into my flesh.

Okay. For starters, how about a zombie in a wheelchair? Don’t you see?! It makes a profound statement about the frailty of human flesh. Whether alive or undead, man is eternally vulnerable—his Achilles’ heel persists. When it is torn, the human can no longer run or jump, much less walk, just as the zombie can no longer stagger. Both will require a wheelchair.

We all know the threat of a zombie takeover is a real one, and since I’ve been stockpiling cans of tuna and honing my technique with a Samurai sword I bought at a pawn shop, I intend to survive it. But once the epic battle is settled and the wounded undead are left to crawl feebly across the land, I will show mercy on my monstrous foes by helping them into wheelchairs.

The main drawback, I guess, is that the zombie uprising has yet to happen. When it does, I don’t want to be viewed as a zombie sympathizer by my brothers at arms. Sure. Generations later, our enemies in World War II are now our allies, but it wouldn’t have been cool to get a tattoo of an American, a German, and a Jap working together to straighten out a swastika symbol before the war even started.

Forget about the zombie in a wheelchair, then. That’s the price I pay for being able to foresee the big picture.

Plan B is to get a tattoo of the Grim Reaper sitting on the toilet. What better way to negate mankind’s fear of our timeless predator than to depict him in such a compromising state? My senior thesis in Philosophy was titled “Everybody Poops, Everybody Dies.” In it, I offered proof that “everybody” includes the cause of death himself, the Grim Reaper, who therefore poops just like the rest of us and ergo should not be placed on a black pedestal as a symbol that instills fear in mankind.

But now it occurs to me that Tina shot this idea down mere moments before we walked into this place. She pointed out that the Grim Reaper is only a skeleton, that he lacks the digestive tract required to poop. Damn. I guess I forgot about that crucial detail amid all the excitement of entering your tatt parlor.

Tina put it as simply as “Skeletons don’t have guts.” Perhaps that’s what my professor meant to say when he called my paper “incomprehensible malarkey.”

It’s a shame I’m not getting a tattoo of the Grim Reaper sitting on the toilet on my back. Now I have to go on being afraid of death because it’s philosophically correct.

All right, let me get my head together. The third time’s a charm, maybe.

Only you only get to read that third charm if you get an eBook copy of More Stories, and Additional Stories. Sure, it's a hard life, oftentimes cruel, made almost unbearable by the cruelty of the elements coupled with the callousness of humans, and me being greedy by asking for three bucks, which you probably don't want to give me, compounds the plight of existence, but I will promise everyone who maintains but a morsel of sacred hope throughout such this catastrophic life on Earth this one redemptive proclamation... shit, I forgot my train of thought. Redemptive proclamation?! Jesus. Who says things like that...

Life Imitating Shart

In a recent survey of NFL players conducted by Sports Illustrated, followers of the Green Bay Packers were voted the most knowledgeable fans. The egos of the Packer faithful were satisfied by such flattery. When it comes to football, all signs of ignorance are frowned upon. Anti-intellectualism is tolerated, perhaps encouraged, in matters of politics and the arts, but no sports fan in Wisconsin is going to call you an egghead for knowing Aaron Rodgers’ career touchdown-to-interception ratio in the red-zone. To Packer fans, if you’re not sure how many linebackers are featured in a 3-4 defense, you don’t need to be patiently informed; you need to watch the game in the other room. No one congratulates you for owning the ability to explain the difference in penalty yardage between roughing the kicker and running into the kicker; that’s the sort of thing you’re supposed to know.

However, this display of mental acuity sometimes veers into areas of superstition and even psychosis. To cite the worst example: cases of domestic violence and spousal abuse spike dramatically in Wisconsin in the wake of Packer losses. The same dope who insists a screen-pass should be dialed-up to counteract the blitz schemes of the Patriots really believes his wife deserves a beating because the Packers tackled poorly, gave up too many yards, and lost the football game. Inside the fanatical, lowlife brain, a clear relationship is detected between bashing the face of the only woman who ever wanted to sleep with him and exacting punishment on the Packers for their failure. The brain works with viscious diligence and then blitzes like a head-hunting linebacker when it arrives at such senseless conclusions.

I have never hit a woman, but as a Packers fan, I am not above similar defects in logic. When it comes to following sports, brainpower certainly has its downfalls. For instance, I can tell you the winners of the last 20 Super Bowls, but for almost three hours of my life, I actually believed the Packers were going to lose because of a mishap that happened in my underpants 60 miles southwest of Lambeau Field.

Donald Driver fumbled in the first quarter of the Packers’ week 17 game against the Bears. The same was true of my anus. And I honestly thought both accidents could hurt the Packers’ playoff chances.

***

About 40 hours after I had contaminated myself with so much beer and champagne, my headache was beginning to ebb but my guts were still in a state of turmoil. My stomach felt a weight like mixed concrete  churning restlessly. I was still getting over a nasty cold and—with a tinge of guilt—I hazily recalled sipping and passing around bottles of champagne. I wondered how many poor saps woke up sneezing the morning afterward on account of that.

But I was all done dwelling on that unpleasantness once pre-game coverage of the Packers-Bears match-up started. At that point, I focused on the impending battle between two factions of jocks who didn’t at all like each other.

The Packers needed a win to secure the 6th and final seed in the playoffs. A loss would end their season. The Bears had already earned a first-round bye and stood nothing to gain or lose in terms of playoff seeding, but years ago, their head coach, Lovie Smith had vowed in his inaugural press conference that beating the Packers was his ultimate goal.

Accordingly, Smith did not rest any of his starters. The grandeur of division rivalry trumped the rationale of preserving the health of key players as Smith opted for the lineup that gave his team the best chance of winning a game that—for logical intents and purposes—meant nothing to the Bears.

But, of course, sports followers have been known to elude matters of logic. Lovie Smith and I offer proof of that.

On the cusp of the opening kickoff, I was alone in my parents’ well-furnished basement, recovering from my cold and too much drink. In retrospect, it was for the best that I was isolated. As a moderate obsessive-compulsive, I felt the disgusted need to be quarantined once the Packers started their opening drive at their own 25-yard line.

Yes, sweet retrospect. In retrospect, too, I did not jinx the Packers—as I had initially feared—when I splotched a shart into my boxer shorts just as the ball was booted off the tee to mark the start of the game.

If you don’t already know, a shart occurs when you squirt liquid shit into your underpants. The term was coined when some genius realized the first two letters in the word “shit” meshed well with the last three letters in “fart."

Hence: Shart—a bit of slang that Webster might reluctantly define as a "mishap of flatulence."

The instant before a man sharts, if he even suspects the awful notion, one of two thoughts comes to him. 1.) “This can’t conceivably become a shart.” 2.) “If this turns out to be a shart, I can live with that.” The former sharter in question is guilty of hubris and ignorance. The latter can be charged with a disregard for decent hygiene. Either you believe your righteous anus couldn’t possibly fall victim to a butt-muddling of that magnitude or you’re a slob of an adult with no real qualms about shitting himself. In regard to sharts, it doesn’t matter which team of thought you support; you can’t win.

“You can’t win.” That was a fitting sentiment as Aaron Rodgers and the Packer offense hurried onto the field to convene for the first huddle of the game. I, too, was hurrying at this moment in time—to the bathroom, chagrined and convinced that I had inflicted a bad omen on my favorite football team.

I had other matters to tend to when the Packers’ opening drive sputtered and the team was soon forced to punt. With crippled poise I unfurled several squares of toilet paper and swabbed the smelly ink blot, swearing I would never forgive myself if that smarmy dirt-bag Jay Cutler somehow managed to carve up the Packers’ secondary. I flushed the toilet and ran a go-route to my bedroom for a change of both underwear and jeans. In no time I returned to the couch—panting, humbled, and filled with dread. Thankfully, the Bears did not fare much better on their first possession.

The Packers’ offense, which was so potent the previous week at home against the Giants, continued to struggle. If memory serves, the ball was jarred loose from Driver’s possession on the Pack’s second drive, moments after he snared a catch on the Bears’ half of the field. The Bears did not capitalize on this turnover. They failed to convert a key third-down and again punted it away.

To quickly summarize the first half: Both defenses performed with stout tenacity, thereby frustrating fans of football’s true exclamation mark: the touchdown. Bears’ kicker Robbie Gould, the offspring of a Keebler elf and a Romanian figure-skater, made a 30-yard chip-shot in the second quarter. The Packers, sadly, couldn’t even move the ball into range to attempt a field goal.

A stingy defense notwithstanding, for the Packers, life was imitating shart.

Nerve-wracked and miserable, I couldn’t stand watching much of the third quarter. Apparently I missed interceptions thrown by both quarterbacks and a few confounding play calls near the goal-line that led to a Packers field goal rather than a touchdown.

No matter. The score was tied when I mustered up the resolve to watch the fourth quarter. As I hunched forward intently, wringing my hands, I promised myself the game was as new and untainted as the boxer shorts I had on. Sure, Rodgers had thrown a pick and Double-D had fumbled and I had sharted, but what did that prove? Our perseverance would mean nothing if the three of us weren’t prone to occasional follies. How petty our dedication would be if triumph was inevitable. We were men bound not by perfection—for that is a gift the Good Lord refuses to share with his creations—but rather a common cause: the pursuit of a Super Bowl victory, and nobody—especially not that smug underachiever Jay Cutler--was going to stop us.

My batty brain was running a swift 40-yard dash. 

Sure enough, though, the Packers prevailed. They managed only one touchdown—a short pass from Rodgers to veteran tight-end Donald Lee--but that score proved to be the last of the game. Cutler led a steady two-minute drill downfield, converted a handful of first-downs, but on the fringe of the red-zone, with less than a minute to play, he was intercepted by Pro-Bowl safety Nick Collins.

And so the Packers were headed for the playoffs. The abysmal condition of winter in Wisconsin would not be fully realized for at least another week. We were grateful.

That shart was evidently not a jinx but a good luck charm, and that worried me. I gulped gloomily and realized that I had set a precedent. If my sharting during the opening kickoff really amounted to a good luck charm for the Packers, would I be willing to do the exact same thing the next week when they played the Eagles in the playoffs? What if I felt no horrid indigestion just as the game started? Think of the consequences! Oh, God—the Packers wouldn’t stand a chance against Michael Vick and the Eagles if I didn’t shart at the precisely right moment in that game, too…

My brain was running another swift time in the 40-yard dash. It was an effort that would rightfully make the runners at the Special Olympics shake their heads and cringe.

***


The Packers defeated the Eagles in the first round of the playoffs, even though I didn't bless their cause by staining my underpants. The week after that, they played the Falcons in Atlanta and went on to beat them, too. I watched the game with my friend Willy, at his parents' house with his family.

The potent offense the Packers had showcased against the Giants resurged as Rodgers and his great quartet of receivers embarrassed the Falcons’ D on their own artificial turf. By the 4th quarter, the Packers had an insurmountable lead. We were elated. Willy marveled at the team’s Super Bowl chances. He told us that the NFC champion would be granted home jerseys for the upcoming big game because the previous NFC champions, the Saints, wore road jerseys in last year’s Super Bowl. The appeal of wearing home jerseys, he said, alternates on an annual basis.

His mom shook her head at this bit of trivia.

“You know too many stats,” she said.

She's right. And here is another gratuitous stat for you, football fans: The Green Bay Packers are undefeated when I shart during the game’s opening kickoff.

I Want to Help You Make Money!

This column dates back a few years. It was written for the April Fools' edition of the Advance-Titan, the college rag I contributed to. Devious and charismatic salesmen who peddle easy solutions to life's complex problems have always been funny to me. When a conservative newspaper on campus printed a story about an ambitious business major promoting his get-rich-quick scheme, complete with a picture of the student beaming prosperously, clad in a suit-and-tie, and brandishing a wad of cash, I couldn't resist the urge to spoof the charlatan. I suspected he was a colossal tool.

***

Hi, I'm Nicholas Olig and nothing would give me greater pleasure than helping YOU make money with one of MY ideas. See that picture of me? I look pretty darn rich, don't I? Not to sound boastful about my affluence, but let's just say that pile of loose change in my hand contains more quarters than pennies. And you see that coupon? It's for $1 off a pack of cigarettes. Only a fool would poison his lungs at full-price!

If you're like me, you value the love and respect of your family and friends. Well, by employing my perfectly legal scheme, you'll have enough money to buy up every ounce of love and respect your family and friends have to offer. (Next week I'll tell you how to SELL the love and respect of your family and friends to cost-effective markets overseas. Prediction: You'll be rolling in the dough along with various attractive people that want to have sex with you!)

Now for the perfectly legal scheme: If your mom is anything like mine, she is a sweet and caring woman who knows very little about sports. Family ties aside, that lack of sports knowledge is begging to be exploited. Hey, moms are great, but if they don't want to be exploited by their own children they should follow sports as obsessively as their male offspring.

Recently I was faced with a fiscal dilemma. I couldn't afford to pay my lofty heating bill because I blew all my money on miniature pilot costumes for my five kittens so they could regale me with feline reenactments of scenes from "Top Gun." It's a predicament almost everyone can relate to.

At home over spring break, as I brooded over ESPN Classic on the TV, mom walked in the room, glanced at the screen and said, "Oh dear, It doesn't look good for the red-and-blue football men, does it? The blue-and-white squad is up by a lot of runs."

A light-bulb flashed atop my head, and that light-bulb was made out of solid gold. She had just used baseball terminology in reference to a football game and had no clue the game had already been decided over ten years ago. What an opportunity!

After much persistence and a teary-eyed declaration that she didn't love me because she wouldn't gamble with me, I coaxed her into a hundred-dollar wager. I bet her the Buffalo Bills would come back from a 35-3 deficit to defeat the staggering Houston Oilers in overtime, and I gave her 3:1 odds to sweeten the deal.

And when the final whistle blew, sure enough, the Bills prevailed in the 1993 AFC Championship Game, just like I remembered. I was one-hundred dollars richer and I had more money to spend on Top Gun kitty reenactments.

My luck didn't run out there. Next they aired game six of the National League Championship Series from 2003 between the Marlins and my beloved Cubs. I waited until the eight inning, then called her into the living room and bet her double-or-nothing the Cubs would squander their two-run lead due in large part from fan interference from a future dead man in the bleachers alongside the leftfield foul line. She totally fell for it!

Now, don't get me wrong. I love the Cubs, and my mom for that matter, but not as much as I love money and the kitty Top Gun re-enactments money affords.

And by the way, some of the perfectly legal money I earned from my sports-ignorant mom was donated to charity. The charity is called, "Electronics for the Homeless," and because of my donation, a labor-challenged Oshkosh man who resides in the Dumpster Hut outside of Fletcher Hall was blessed with a free blender.

So there you have it: Exploiting your mom's lack of sports knowledge can make you a lot of money, and it is also a noble cause. I'll see you next week, when my photo will showcase the awesome calf implants I just purchased with one of my many piles of cash!

The Danger Zone Mix

Me: If the Danger Zone referenced on the Top Gun soundtrack was a literal, tangible place instead of a metaphor, which vehicle would you drive on your journey on the Highway to the Danger Zone?

Willy: Hold on. I won’t answer that question until you clarify a few things for me. In the first place, why would I voluntarily travel to a place called “The Danger Zone”?

Me: For the sake of thrill-seeking, maybe.

Willy: But I’m not really a thrill-seeker. I mostly seek paychecks and relaxation and sex. When I get done with work, I spend time with my wife and daughter. Sometimes I spark a joint in the basement and then put on NetFlix and fill out a crossword. Maybe get laid, if we can get the baby to take a nap. It’s a pretty tame lifestyle, based on routine, but I kind of prefer it that way. I’m not the Danger Zone type. I have no reason, no inclination to take a trip to the Danger Zone.

Me: Well, what if circumstances forced you to drive to the Danger Zone? What if you had to enter the Danger Zone in order to rescue your wife and daughter?

Willy: Then I’d call my wife on her cell phone. I'd be like, “I thought I told you to stay away from the Danger Zone. And you brought the baby along with you, too? What the hell? That’s pretty weak, honey.”

Me: Okay, okay. What if evil forces from the Danger Zone kidnapped your wife and daughter?

Willy: What kind of evil forces?

Me: Let’s see...How about a coalition of al-Qaeda zombies and black bears armed with bazookas?

Willy: Those creatures don’t exist. You know that, right?

Me: Of course I do. But the entire question is hypothetical in nature. The Danger Zone doesn’t really exist, either. It’s imaginary; therefore, it harbors imaginary things.

Willy: Well-played, nut-job. All right. So, the question you’re asking me is as follows: If al-Qaeda zombies joined forces with bazooka-shooting black bears and then kidnapped my wife and daughter and stole them off to a place known as the Danger Zone, which vehicle would I drive on my journey to rescue them?

Me: Yes, that’s it. Exactly.

Willy: Okay. I’m tempted to opt for a souped-up squad car or something flashy, with plenty of gusto, like an Escalade, but because the question itself is fantasy-based, I had better squash that rational instinct. Something invincible and deadly, such as a tank, seems like a good answer, but then again, tanks aren’t exactly designed for highway driving, are they? A monster truck comes to mind, but those are reckless vehicles, and I’d probably destroy a dozen or so cars accidentally on my way to rescue my wife and daughter. And that’s no good. I don’t need my conscience terrorized by the deaths of innocent strangers I was responsible for, just because I had the balls to command a beast like the Gravedigger on the highway. So forget about the tank and the monster truck.

Me: Will do. The tank and the monster truck are now dead to us.

Willy: What about the DeLorian from Back to the Future?

Me: On the surface, it’s an alluring choice, considering the appeal of ‘80s nostalgia, but keep in mind, if you exceed 88 miles per hour in that thing, you’ll be going back in time rather than saving your wife and daughter from capture in the Danger Zone.

Willy: That’s a valid point. Also, you really should talk to chicks more often.

Me: Neither here nor there but noted. Do you have an answer to the question?

Willy: Yeah, I think so. Staying true to the appeal of ‘80s nostalgia but excluding the time machine factor, I’m going with KITT from Knight Rider. That car is conditioned for danger. Plus it’s incredibly fast and nimble, perfect for highway driving, and if I drove the black sports-car from Knight Rider back to safety with my family in tow, I guarantee I’d have sex at least twice that night.

Me: All right. That was a clear and thoughtful answer, and I respect it.

Willy: What about you? Which vehicle would you drive along the Highway to this Danger Zone?

Me: Oh! It’s a no-brainer. The Batmobile.

Willy: Okay. I’ll go along with that. Which Batmobile?

Me: The one that Batman rides in, stupid.

Willy: Oh, my. How flabbergasting. No, I mean which incarnation of the Batmobile? Adam West’s muscle-car from the late ‘60s? Michael Keaton’s sleek and aerodynamic ride? The phallic-shaped version from Batman Forever? The militaristic vehicle with the escape pod motorcycle from the Christopher Nolan flicks...

Me: Got’cha. My bad. Allow me to clarify. I’d go with Michael Keaton’s Batmobile. My hunch is strong that, of all the Batmobiles, Keaton’s showcases the best balance of style, giddy-up, armor, weaponry, and handling.

Willy: Fair enough. So, I’d drive KITT along the Highway to the Danger Zone, whereas you’d go with the Batmobile from the original Batman movie. Are we through here?

Me: Not quite. We’ve established the cars we’d drive, but an additional question to consider is as follows: What kind of music would you listen to en route to the Danger Zone?

Willy: Aside from the obvious choice of “The Danger Zone” by Kenny Loggins?

Me: Preferably, yes. That pick doesn’t require much imagination. Plus, in this hypothetical scenario, your journey to the Danger Zone is long enough to include exactly ten tracks of your choosing. It would be trite and agonizing to listen to “The Danger Zone” ten times in a row.

Willy: Hey, that’s debatable. It’s clear you don’t have much respect for the soundtrack king of the 1980s. “I’m Alright” doesn’t put you in the mood to take off your shirt and run around a sprinkler with a bottle of champagne in hand? I’m worried about you.

Heavily rewritten with better results, this one appears in my eBook More Stories, and Additional Stories.