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