Jolt Country

Boredom is one thing. The boredom I was experiencing at about 3 PM today is something completely different. It's that middle-ground between being asleep and awake, where you couldn't quite muster the energy to care what state you were actually in. It's like being in a dream, and then wondering for a second whether you were dreaming or not, but then realizing that it wouldn't make a bit of difference either way, so why not lie back and enjoy.

Then I read an article in Bon Appetit about vodka.

Which got me to thinking about vodka.

Which got me to purchasing vodka.

Which got me to putting vodka in the freezer for a couple hours.

Which got me to pounding vodka once it was properly chilled.

Okay, now I can play this fucking game. This game that I get at least three, four unsolicited AIMs every day from the Sysop here, begging, "DIDJA PLAY IT YET, DIDJA DIDJA DIDJA?? I'LL BE YOUR BEST FRIEND!??!"""""

Alright, I'll play it.

Any game which starts on a golf course, I like.
Any game which moves from the golf course directly to the clubhouse and ordering New York strips, I like.
Any game which then gives you a bad ending straightaway, without knowing what you did wrong, I hate.

...but any game which then you realize was just fucking with you, I LIKE!

...and any game which tries this ruse a couple more times, I hate... and then like again!!!

The only mistake this game makes is when it stops fucking with you and starts taking itself seriously.

The last chapter of the game is the longest, and it's the one that dares to delve into the realm of metaphor and the figurative and the textual equivalent of impressionism and dares to get really deep on ya, dawg!!

And perhaps it's extremely brilliant, but I'll be damned if I could tell what the hell it was talking about. The language devolves into a string of very descriptive adjectives, all arranged nicely around each other, but none of which seemed to have anything to do with each other.

So it becomes sort of a reverse For a Change, where the language is supposed to be regular english, but you have to translate it first to anything you can understand.

Which is too bad, because I was totally into the shit before all the weird stuff started happening. Now I know what it feels like to watch Magnolia, and then lose interest when the frogs start falling.

I'm willing to blame myself for this one, though. I'll try it again, without the vodka, and see if I can decipher what's actually going on.

The first half was the best thing Robb had ever been involved in, I can tell you that. Without question.

The last half?

Well. What can I say.

**1/2

Day-UM!!!

Well, who broke the window? Let's start there.

Can I get an answer to my motherfucking question?

Jesus Christ. What kind of support website is this?

WHO BREAKS THE FUCKING WINDOW???

pinback wrote:Can I get an answer to my motherfucking question?

Jesus Christ. What kind of support website is this?

WHO BREAKS THE FUCKING WINDOW???

I think it was Pittman.

Bruce

I think that's how Itgirl broke both her ankles.

pinback wrote:Can I get an answer to my motherfucking question?

Jesus Christ. What kind of support website is this?

WHO BREAKS THE FUCKING WINDOW???

For fuck's sake, who do you think broke it

I have no idea. The game gives no clues as to who does it. Or if it's Pittman, then the game gives no clues as to why in the hell he would do that. Getting drunk and clowning around with a cadaver, fine, but why would he break his agent's windows?

pinback wrote:I have no idea. The game gives no clues as to who does it. Or if it's Pittman, then the game gives no clues as to why in the hell he would do that. Getting drunk and clowning around with a cadaver, fine, but why would he break his agent's windows?

It is up for interpretation, I would not be so bold as to simply say it, because it's just my interpretation. I don't feel there is a single "right" answer easily proveable by >looking at some scenery or anything, IIRC.

So basically the only purpose of it was to provide a reason for whatsername to get her fat ass up and slip on the doggie's tinkle?

Well, I like to incorporate the name of the game in the game, you see.

I don't get it. What does the window breaking have to do with the title of the game?

You know, I liked this game at first, but the more I talk to its author, the more angry with it I am getting.

pinback wrote:I don't get it. What does the window breaking have to do with the title of the game?

You know, I liked this game at first, but the more I talk to its author, the more angry with it I am getting.

Well, look at the ball.

What ball? I didn't see no ball.

Yeah, the window broke because someone threw a baseball through it.

Well, I didn't see no ball. Let me just fire that badboy up again and see how I missed that...

Ah, there we go. Anybody see a fucking ball anywhere in this transcript?

---

>w
Living Room
You enter your living room and automatically take a whiff of the room's scent -- the smell of your new leather couch isn't so new that you don't notice it yet. It cost you almost the entire commission you made when you got Artero Gueterrez a six-month minor league contract with the Toledo Mud Hens, but both you and Charlise had earmarked this one for years. (Good kid, that Artero, but couldn't hit a curveball in an airless vacuum.)

The room is laid out with the couch in front of your television and stereo speakers. A couple of Charlise's frescos hang from the walls, and you've started to add stucco to the ceiling. A couple of your golfing trophies adorn the shelves near the phone, and a signed Garciaparra bat is also hanging up, encased in a plastic preservation shell.

Watson's over in front of the couch, sniffing and snorting at something.

Your main front window has a long crack running through it.

The auxiliary window to the right of that one is completely shattered. Glass from it has sprayed out onto your floor, definitely smashed from something or somebody on the outside.


Your beagle is here, puttering around near the couch.




>x floor
It lies beneath you.



>x glass
The shards of glass are almost everywhere.



>e
Hallway
You're about halfway down your hallway. To the west is your living room. The bedrooms and kitchen are further north, down the hall.






>n
You start down the hallway and Watson goes berserk, barking from the living room. You dash back toward the living room to see what's the matter...

Living Room
Something -- a baseball, a rock, a human fist -- tried getting into your house earlier. Glass is strewn all about your floor from your (former) right front window.

Exits lead north to your kitchen and east to the hallway.


Your beagle is here, puttering around near the couch.


You hear the dryer buzzing.



>x rock
I don't know the word "rock".

>x ball
I don't see any ball here.


>e
Hallway
You're about halfway down your hallway. To the west is your living room. The bedrooms and kitchen are further north, down the hall.






>n
You start down the hallway and Watson goes berserk, barking from the living room. You dash back toward the living room to see what's the matter...

Living Room
Something -- a baseball, a rock, a human fist -- tried getting into your house earlier. Glass is strewn all about your floor from your (former) right front window.

Exits lead north to your kitchen and east to the hallway.


Your beagle is here, puttering around near the couch.




>pet beagle
The beagle wags his tail at you happily, and returns to his puttering around.



>search glass
You find nothing of interest.



>kick dog
Trying to dissuade Watson that he's anything other than the bestest boy on the entire planet is futile: he's too fast for your attempted kicks and presumes you are playing.



>e
Hallway
You're about halfway down your hallway. To the west is your living room. The bedrooms and kitchen are further north, down the hall.






>n
You start down the hallway and Watson goes berserk, barking from the living room. You dash back toward the living room to see what's the matter...

Living Room
Something -- a baseball, a rock, a human fist -- tried getting into your house earlier. Glass is strewn all about your floor from your (former) right front window.

Exits lead north to your kitchen and east to the hallway.


Your beagle is here, puttering around near the couch.

I think it went under the couch.

Well, no game's perfect, not even... I dunno, name an IF game that I've liked.

...no, wait, it'll come to me.

pinback wrote:What ball? I didn't see no ball.

>w
Living Room
You enter your living room and automatically take a whiff of the room's scent -- the smell of your new leather couch isn't so new that you don't notice it yet. It cost you almost the entire commission you made when you got Artero Gueterrez a six-month minor league contract with the Toledo Mud Hens, but both you and Charlise had earmarked this one for years. (Good kid, that Artero, but couldn't hit a curveball in an airless vacuum.)

The room is laid out with the couch in front of your television and stereo speakers. A couple of Charlise's frescos hang from the walls, and you've started to add stucco to the ceiling. A couple of your golfing trophies adorn the shelves near the phone, and a signed Garciaparra bat is also hanging up, encased in a plastic preservation shell.

Watson's over in front of the couch, sniffing and snorting at something.

Your main front window has a long crack running through it.

The auxiliary window to the right of that one is completely shattered. Glass from it has sprayed out onto your floor, definitely smashed from something or somebody on the outside.

Your beagle is here, puttering around near the couch.

>x couch
After years of sitting and sleeping on a second-hand couch that your older brother gave you from his college years, you were happy to have this nice leather one. There are claw marks in the carpet near the edge of the sofa -- it appears as if Watson has been trying to get at something.

>x claw marks
The claw marks lead under the couch.

>look under couch
You find a baseball, which you promptly pick up.

You hear the dryer buzzing.

>x baseball
It's not one of yours... it's apparently what was thrown through your front window. There's some writing on it, in a flowery cursive text, not completely unlike an autograph.

>read writing
Upon closer inspection, it's not an autograph at all. You make out the words, slowly, but it says:

NO TIME TO SQUEAL KIERON

>squeal
There's no time.

OMFG! I forgot to check out the couch, which has nothing to do with anything! Then I forgot to check out the claw marks which have nothing to do with anything!

THEN I FORGOT TO CHECK OUT THE BALL UNDER THE COUCH WHICH HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ANYTHING!!

Know what? Fuck this shit.

ZERO STARS.