The other day, when my good friend’s young daughter proudly showed me a picture she’d drawn of me, I was absolutely chuffed to buggery. She is four years old and was drawing me from memory, so of course a few artistic licences were taken. I don’t have eight spindly legs, to my knowledge. And I certainly don’t have bile green skin with smegma yellow hair.
A friend of mine recently expressed his desire to dispense with that ozone-killing, turtle-plastic-trapping deathmachine known as a car, and instead get himself a motorbike. It’s a lot more nimble, he said, and would get him to and from the train station or the shops a lot quicker.
Cheaper to run too, of course, and I imagine less chance for something to go wrong. Well, it all sounded very green to me, though not as green as his even more outrageous intention to test drive and intentionally buy an electric car. Still, his motorcycle wish was definitely up there in the madness stakes.
I’m well versed in hospitals, you know. I don’t mean medical hospitals – dreadful places, you know. Full of death, and suffering, and the nurses are nowhere near as up for it as several video tapes from my youth had led me to believe. I did have cause to visit a general hospital in my adult years, in order to have a flap of skin cut off the end of my gentleman’s area.
And I was gutted, you know, as that was the only bill I ever paid in full and I still ended up getting cut off. I was unlikely to get the blind circumciser at least – that guy got the sack. At least my surgeon wasn’t money hungry anyway; some of those guys are only in it for the tips.
As Mega Man embarks on his fifth death-defying adventure, I feel I must finally lift my head above the parapet. It’s time for me to be a little bit ethical here, and ask that difficult question: are we sure Mega Man isn’t traumatised by now? I suppose the logical answer to this is that he is a robot, and robots don’t suffer from PTSD.
Like a lot of people out there, I’m a fool to myself almost every night. No, for once I’m not talking about self-debasement – I’m talking about sleep, and that’s deprivation, not depravation. And I know you’ll sympathise with me; will have experienced that terrible moment in life, when you finally decide to try for some sleep, you set your phone alarm and it tell you, “Alarm set for 2 hours and 32 minutes from now”.
So the question is this: where is Mega Man from? In-universe, I’m talking about now. We know he lives in the future, because proper numbers no longer exist and the calendar eventually tells us it’s the year 200X, although I haven’t a notion how you’d pronounce that.
Mega Man does look like a distinctly Japanese creation, with his big wide anime eyes. And yet the American box arts make him look like something out of a Fallout game, if it were set in the 1980s. So is he American or Japanese, or miscellaneous? Do these countries even exist anymore, in Mega Man’s world? What about France, the UK, Russia?
Still looking for a New Year’s resolution? Learning to speak and write in foreign languages is a pursuit most noble, you know. It’s a sure-fire way to broaden your pathetic, shallow mind. For language learning purposes, there are all kinds of devices you can make use of that’ll make you a proverbial polyglot.
In the old days you’d have to use books, which is never ideal. That’s what they keep trying to do in schools, and school is the last place you want to try learning a language in. Case in point, I tried learning Irish for 13 years in school, and French for 6 years, and what can I show for it?
The third instalment in any series can often be finely poised on the knife-edge of quality, and very rarely will they be middle-of-the-road – they could be sensational pieces of work, like Goldfinger and Rocky III. Or they can turn out properly lacklustre, like The Godfather III and, I’m sorry to say this, Back to the Future 3.
With the NES though, there was plenty of greatness where the number 3 was concerned. Plenty of great trees were pulled up, an Irishman might say. Super Mario Bros. 3 was the crown jewel of the system. Castlevania 3 was strong as well, Ninja Gaiden 3, Dragon Quest 3… we’ll not mention Double Dragon 3 – good things don’t always come in threes.
So here we are then, back to the shortest day of the year, and that means we’re still only at the midway point of a dark and depressing winter. It’s worse than a month of depressing Sundays, this, especially when you’re a worker drone.
Go to work when it’s dark and blustery, alongside your fellow lemmings. Stare out at the tantalising daylight if you’re lucky enough to have access to a window. Then it’s already dark by the time you leave, even if you bunk off early. Your whole leisure time is dominated by that lurid mixture of black emptiness and orange streetlight.
Why do some abominable people, places and things become so popular? I see for example that Jedward are regaining a bit of popularity on Twitter, by ticking as many progressive boxes as they can and piling onto witch-hunts against other hate figures. The word incredulity was invented for those two boys, born just down the road from me. Well, it’s a metaphorical road.