Bawls, Brawls and Underalls

Brawl dropped on Sunday, which is great for me and terrible for anyone not interested in tasting a Falchion face-full of smack-down served by the searing edge of Marth‘s Sword of Light. It’s not that I’m that good at the game; I’m not. It’s more to say that I’ve been given the gift of Smash and god dammit, I am going to use it. Actually, I am that good. Deal.

I’m wearing this new underwear that Lex got me. I’m doing this because she does that sort of thing; buys me underwear and makes me wear it. She’s got this way of making sure every minute of my life is packed with the type of security and thoughtfulness you normally wouldn’t expect from a chick more interested in candy and comic books than sometimes remembering look up from her color coordinated DS long enough to breathe.

I just told her to breathe, just now. I wasn’t kidding. Who knows what would’ve happened had I not have done so. I may have just saved a life.

Anyway, this new underwear is amazing. It feels like something you’d think was spun from the silk of a single silkworm on the single hour of the single day when only Mars and Venus are in aphelion, the wind is blowing easterly and the worm itself has just finished it’s hand-fed meal of milk, honey and the wonders of a thousand dreaming children. I am not shitting you here; my balls feel like they are, each of them, being held in place by a cloud of good will and fancy intentions. I haven’t told a funny joke in decades and I can assure you that this, right here, is not even close to an exception. I am not at all kidding you. It’s like that warm place you want to think is there if you could tap into the first memories of your mother’s womb, but for your junk.

I am telling you this because I need you to know what I think of Brawl. We brought it home on Sunday and played it until some time later that may actually have been today but who cares when you’re trying to unlock Toon Link, right? That is to say we played quite a bit and we did so because it rocks house. If you’ve not played before, please do. If you don’t even know what I’m talking about, please understand that those underwear, those mentioned above, I shit them at how amazing this game is. Real shit. Like a two year old.

It may have something to do with the diuretic; caffeine has a way of getting right the hell out of the Bawls bottle and into my stomach, bloodstream and finally my brain, with an efficiency approaching the type of statistic normally reserved for the weirdness index of furries. It’s that or the malts.

Did I tell you we make awesome fucking malts? It’s sick. It doesn’t make sense. I had to get malt from a restaurant supplier because of how much we consume. Our malts are 78% malt, 12% shake and 10% twinkie-or-twinkie-analogue shoved in there like we want to die or something. I sometimes think that when you get to a certain level of joy you just have to be absurd about everything to keep going; just to give yourself something to shoot for. Thusly was born der übermalt.

Shit, thusly is born pretty much everything I’m doing these days. If you see some guy marching proudly down the streets of Chicago proper, a fucking explosion of unfathomable confidence, with the sly grin of someone who’s on to something, come up and say “hi”.

I’ve got nothing but smiles for you.