DarthTofu

I played a demo of that game, like, five years ago. It was creepy as hell!

Alrighty, then. Traditional rules: First guy to die loses! Quick, someone name the movie I jacked that line from!

"Ego-shooters"? I'm guessing that's your term for online shooter games? I like that name- I'm officially stealing it, primarily because people who talk about how splendid they are for being able to kill other people on, say, Halo3, annoy the crap out of me. Battlefront I has turned out to be pretty awesome, particularly when I play with my sister, though when I accidentally blew up Tatooine she got a bit angry with me. Ah, well. It's nice to see that I've corrupted a valedictorian and college student back into the realm of Star Wars (with the help of Aaron Alston's Betrayal).

I was on my fourth warrior when the rocket blast hit. I was taking them down quickly and effectively; at medium range I was deadly. If a short didn't find an eye hole or a soft joint in the armor, it at least packed enough of a punch to send a warrior staggering back. The blast from the rocket had the power to send them flying back. Not that it was a terribly new rocket; it wasn't. It was a PLEX rocket, ancient by the day's standards, but still more than deadly enough. It hit the center of the pack, luckily, but it still sent me flying backward. My armor saved my life; with no obvious holes in it and a heat-resistant body glove covering me where the plates didn't, it merely felt as if a Star Destroyer had decided to land on my body, nothing worse. I slammed into a root protruding from the ceiling as I flew, then hit the floor- and kept going. The roots of the ridiculously fast growing damutek had descended in the few minutes of the fight into the floor of the room we were in now and had begun to borrow in. Yuuzhan Vong mosses and plant life had preceded the roots, and now they'd finally weakened the floor to the consistency of a stale pastry. I landed painfully on my back after a hardly abated two story drop, and I felt the top of my jet pack jar against my head. In front of me one of those ridiculously tough warriors picked himself up off of the floor and uncoiled his amphistaff while I was still trying to force my lungs to accept the air they so desperately needed but still scorned. "Fierfek," I wheezed, trying to convince my arms to force me to back up. They didn't respond very well; I found myself using my fingertips more than anything to force myself back and carving a rut in the top millimeter of the the duracrete where my body slid against it. The warrior was on his feet. "Dammit!" He started forward, a slow, awkward stagger; he held his leg awkwardly. A moment later it gave out and I realized why; it wasn't there. The empty, dead shell of a Voonum Crab was all that remained in that leg where the fire of the blast had burnt it off, and he'd been using the shell as a crutch until it broke. And he still came. No one could that much pain. No one. And he did. A moment later he didn't. His head was gone, and now his brain was no longer capable of interpreting pain. I looked at where the splatterings of his head and biots had been, then followed the line they described back to a smoking blaster the size of a large infant. It was anything but infant-like, and it was recharging. My brain finally kicked into gear despite the fact that my body wouldn't, and I activated my jet pack, blasting backward and avoiding the next shot from the massive blaster; the sort of firepower it packed prevented it from having a high rate of fire, and it had to be reloaded after a mere twenty shots; not worth the effort in my opinion; I liked to have fifty shots in each fist, though the jarring impact of the missile had deprived me of both of my heavy blasters. The blaster roared again, and the blast clipped my left arm- on the armor rather than the flesh- and sent me spinning in an uncontrolled, still jet-pack assisted flight in the next wall. Biots had done some work on this one as well, but no taproots had reached this wall. My impact with it only left a crater in the side; at the center I could see a tiny hole into the next room over, but then I was falling away and I lost it as my jet pack cut off and I fell to the floor for the second time in under a minute, racing spiderweb cracks down to it. A hissing noise suddenly filled the room, and it took me a moment to realize that helmet had not switched to infrared; it was merely showing me that the room was now lit predominantly by a red glow. I forced my battered body to leap once more, and I was glad I did; a second later the blaster roared, though I didn't detect the impact until several seconds later; it wasn't nearly as on target as it ought to have been. "Shadow, Omen, come in. Get out of there, now." I swore. The usefulness of "Shadow" as a code name was now lost, seeing as Micus was in the room with me and had clearly heard my name on the comm band we were using. I swung around to face him again, ignoring Hohass's voice as it blared within my helmet. "There are more Yuuzhan Vong converging on your position, including a CoralSkipper; I repeat, get out of there, now!" "Stang!" I clicked a switch with my tongue to have my helmet light up with yellow boxes to show me where my pistols lay, all the while scanning the room to see what was going on. Micus, looking like some sort of strange Yuuzhan Vong himself in his black-and-silver armor, was facing off with Omen. She had her lightsaber blade raised to his face, but he had his blaster at her gut. It was readily apparent that both knew about the impending reinforcements; the tension in the air was palpable. "I'm just here for him." They were the first words I'd heard Micus utter in person in a while; the comm words didn't count, they'd been transmitted electronically. "Trust me," Omen growled, "I'd love to give him to you, but right now he's with my meal ticket on this planet, so I really can't." She was standing right next to one of my blasters. My second was just barely clinging to the hole in the ceiling by the trigger housing. "Just lower the lightsaber, let me end something that should have ended long ago, and you can just say that the Vong got him." "Again, I'd love to, but no." A distraction. I needed a distraction above all else, something to stop them, to keep me safe and to help me. The building above, the damutek, was still filled with the explosive substance- but it was just a few meters above my head, if even that. The blast would be worse than the rocket had been by far. If I could get one of my blasters that would help. It might even let me finally kill Micus, and if I did, there was a good chance that he'd take Omen out for me, killing two of my enemies in one fell swoop; I could even tell Hohass I'd been trying to save Omen when I shot Micus. That could work if I had one or more of my heavy blasters. A second later the ground began to vibrate. Dust fell from the ceiling. The hole in the roof dumped my blaster into my hand at the same moment Omen and Micus shifted to look up, Omen taking a step forward, Micus a step back. I lunged forward, quickly, and snagged my other blaster with my left hand and unloaded both at close range right into Micus's chest plate- or rather, I would have. With a swear to match my own he'd fired off his own jet pack as soon as the Vong reinforcements began to become ominous. He took a pot shot at me as he shot backward in a controlled assault on the far wall unlike my uncontrolled smash, and it would have hit and ripped straight through my armor, Mando Iron or no, if not for Omen's blade intercepting it first and sending it flying back into the crater I'd left on the opposite wall when I hit it. Both that wall and the wall Micus had aimed for collapsed at the same moment; the stress was too much for the two remaining walls, and roof started to come down on us. "Stang!" I dropped to the ground and and punched it on the way, trying to smash a hole through it that could drop us to safety. It dented in the imprint of my first, but held. "Stang!" I jumped away from the spot a moment before large chunk of duracrete smashed into it; unfortunately for both myself and Omen the floor still held. I leaped for the hole Micus's shot and my body had made while Omen opted for the hole closer to her that Micus had blasted. The floor still held, even when heavy Yuuzhan Vong warriors in heavy Vondun Crab armor landed amidst the rubble of the floor. Omen threw another thermal detonator that I hadn't known about into the center of the room and rolled it out of the way of a thrusting amphistaff. The floor no longer held.

I donated more than ten times that today... I was supposed to be working on other stuff. It's amazing how unproductive that site can make you when you ought to be working on a script that involves such awful puns as: A Russian magazine Stalin. "Which one do you want?" "I'm Lenin toward that one in the back." "Alright. Is this cash, or am I Putin it on a credit card?"

Looks pretty neat and gory. But what´s with all that singing??? I don´t like singing in movies. That´s also one reason why I don´t like Blues Brothers. I usually have a "to each his own" philosophy on things such as movies, but for this I must take out my cross-country sniper rifle and end your misery, Eagle, for clearly one who does not care for The Blues Brothers doesn't care for life itself.

For your actions against a group of hateful, venomous retards, I award you the medal of win, Canada. Something that's been posted before, but is still without a doubt among the greatest things on the web.

More stuff that my local High School liked enough to stuff in their literary magazine and earn me some extra credit. Consider yourselves blessed that I deign to share this with you! Or, you know, consider yourselves cursed- either way works just fine, truth-be-told. And We Would be Nameless After the third guy got sick, we finally started to talk. Something about watching one more guy wretch into the chilly water as our little bucket of bolts rose for the umpthousandth time, fell for the umpthousandth time, made us want to finally talk before we died. Not that we all thought in terms of being dead; not yet. We still had another ten minutes before we were supposed to have to worry about seeing landfall, and we planned to dedicate every last second before we hit Normandy to ignoring the idea of hitting it. “We’re going to die, you know. Every last one of us.â€

Oh, man, that site is great! Sort of like my short-lived project Crazy Bantha dedicated to craptastic lines throughout the movie, such as "I hate you... Obi Wan... Grr."

I should probably have included something about typing in native languages and such. Persons such as yourself and Mad might be quicker in German or French, Eagle. Alright, subcategory: Do you type more proficiently in your native tongue than in a foreign one, oh bi/tri/omnilingual members of the forums?

Guitar Hero II and Battlefront (Only I, not II) have both proven to be pretty entertaining, though Guitar Hero occupies the PS2 more often than not. It's a fun enough game, but I'm not drawn into it the way everyone else seems to be. I have no issue with putting it down and walking away to do something else for, say, the rest of the week.

I finished Unwind in less than twenty four hours. That good- had me up 'till five AM reading it. Ugh! I can see very much why Card would have wanted Schusterman (Again, sp?) to write the Bean quartet- he writes a character who is very much like Bean's nemesis Achilles, and yet not him at all, and creates an amazingly realistic world of madness. Basically it's like this: After the second Civil War fought over abortion (I'm guessing he and Card collaborated there) it was determined that there would be a compromise: From the moment of conception, a life cannot and will not be touched. However, from when the child is thirteen to when the child becomes an adult at eighteen, they can be retroactively aborted, or "unwound," which is technically not killing them. Instead their bodies are "unwound" and all of the tissues and such are placed into living, breathing people to give them life, drastically increasing life expectancy and such- and the child is still alive, just in a different way, now. In the form of a thousand bits and pieces scattered among a thousand people. Very good book; if it's juvenile, it's juvenile only in the respect that Ender's Game was juvenile.

It's a hundred and six miles to Chicago. We've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses. Hit it! Splendid movie, that! One of the best of all time!

It rained Christmas eve and day, and still looks overcast on the 26th. We determined that it was Florida trying to have snow and failing because it was too near the equator.

Ditto. I also got Unwind by Niel Shusterman (sp?). He's a pretty good author, albeit a somewhat juvenile one. He has a knack for not writing predictable books, though- IE the obvious couples will not still be together by the end of the book, and he'll keep you guessing throughout. In fact, he was the guy Orson Scott Card wanted to write the Bean quartet originally before he took it over. Card still sort of looks up to him; I got to meet him at a conference for the Florida Council of Teachers of English for play that I wrote that won first in a state competition, and he was a pretty darned engaging speaker. I got two of his books and discovered that he's a rather engaging author as well.

... I got a rock. No movies in my gift basket this year, though my sister gave the family A Muppet Christmas Carol, which is as heartwarming as the real story and then some.

Haha! References to forum members FTW!

The goriest picture of the year ever. Do not click if you are squeamish or if you have small children around you... You might get away with looking at it at work, though.

My friend gave me Battlefield II for the PS2 for Christmas, and my sisters got the whole family Guitar Hero II for the PS2. Should be some fun, interesting games.

I'm kind of interested in seeing who here can type by touch- you can look at the computer monitor or, in my case, at something totally unrelated to the computer, and still type out perfectly coherent messages with few to no errors. I'm apparently the only one in my family who can do as much, probably because I type up more fiction on the computer than anyone else in my direct family. I make the occasional error with my eyes closed or focused on something else, such as a double letter or two, but other than that, I'm good to go regardless of where I'm looking. How is everyone else at typing?

I'll assume all of the Brits on the forum have heard of Love Actually. It's a pretty good flick that my sisters introduced me to last holiday season. Yes, it's pretty much a chick flick, but it's pretty funny at the same time, and has that whole holiday spirit about it.

Somehow I've been sucked back into Empire at War: Forces of Corruption. It's not the best game ever, but there's still something about using that SSD to kill everything in sight that gets me all warm and fuzzy inside...

I suppose the fact that I snagged my avatar from Jahled makes it ineligible for the contest. I opt for Eagle's and LLF's as well.

*Finally got around to reading this article* Very neat stuff, there- I didn't know about the jets being fired by black holes!

Dark Knight looks good- I've heard that guy is supposed to be the best joker since Jack Nickleson (sp?), and acts a lot like he did, just with better special effects. I didn't know I am Legend was a book- I'll have to check the library for it. Is it just me, or does Will Smith seem to star in a number of movies that deviate drastically from what they were based on?