Tuesday 8 November 2011

An Open Letter To Josh


An Open Letter to Josh

Dear Josh,
Or maybe, “Dear Drug addled scumbag inhabiting my brother’s body”.

What. The. Fuck? And once again for emphasis. Seriously. What. The. Fuck. Man? What on earth are you doing? And more importantly how do you justify it to yourself and not realise the irreparable damage you are causing, not only to your body but to all of your important and close relationships. Seriously, I would like to know. So I can also live a life without guilt. Do you even know what the word means anymore? Do you feel guilt, or remorse, or…actually do you feel anything? Cause from where I sit, the only thing it seems like you feel is the need to “get fried”, or “get loose” or whatever other bullshit fucken term you wanna use for getting absolutely fucked up on hard and illicit pharmacological substances.

Is it still fun? Cause, I gotta be honest, I would assume the shine would come off a little after a while. Hell, even I get bored of video games some times. Apparently though you don’t suffer that particular affliction. Maybe that’s the problem. “Hmm, I’m bored. I know, speed.”.

“Hmm, bored again. Better do some Ice”.

Shit man, when I get bored I just wank.

Honestly Josh, you have become a thing. You are no longer a person. People don’t talk about you like a person. You are a thing, a problem to be discussed, or solved. Only there is no solution. You’re a fucking Rubik’s cube. Ok, I know some people can solve them, but I can’t. I’ve looked at it/you from every angle I can think of and I can’t see a fix. Maybe you’re just a broken Rubik’s cube. Some fuckhead tried to pull it apart and put it back together to cheat the solution, but they lost some of the blocks, or snapped them or something.

I know that most people experiment with drugs. Some people make them a career. Some make them a lifestyle. But you have turned them into a fucking art form. And not good art. Incomprehensible, pretentious bullshit art. Art that tries to please everyone at once and by doing so pleases no one. After a big night at “Tramp” getting high on nothing but the “music”, what is the first thing you think when you wake up? How does your head feel? Your body?

Oh and by the way, can you enlighten me? You know I’m not “down with the drugs lingo”. Is “music” the name of a new pill? Like “Red Mitsubishi” or “White Diamond” or something. Or is it just a really clever attempt by you to misdirect us all and make us believe you aren’t using? I’ll let you in on a secret………..it’s not working.

I’ve been thinking back and trying to figure out how it all went so horribly wrong for you. I can’t understand the event in your life that was so horrible, that you need to forget everything all the time. I don’t know who you are any more.

As it stands, if you weren’t my brother we wouldn’t be friends. If you weren’t my brother you wouldn’t even be someone I would want to talk to. If you weren’t my brother, you would be one of the fuckwits that me and Shane and probably even you, back in the day, would have made fun of. You are a person now that I wouldn’t let in my house. If I had a baby I wouldn’t let you hold it. I wouldn’t even let you wash my car, or mow my lawn.

I will would have done anything for you. But, the only thing I see myself doing for you now is carrying you out of a church in a wooden box and putting you in the ground. I can see it clearly in my head. It would be a nice sunny day. The church would be full of friends and family, some would be crying. Most would be sad but some would be breathing a sigh of relief. I know that sounds incredibly insensitive but I’m just being honest. Finally, we would know where you are at all times. We would know that your journey towards self destruction was over.

Thinking about you getting closer and closer to death from your “mad partying” I used to get mad. Really mad. But then that passed and I started to get sad. Really, really sad. But now. When I think about the possibility of getting a call from Dad or Mum or Joel to say that you are now a corpse I think, “Man I wonder how many days off from work I’ll get”. Awful isn’t it. But I can only care for so long. I can only sit up nights wondering about you. Hoping you’ll get clean. Praying to a God I don’t believe in. I can only do it for so long until I can’t care anymore. Until I can’t carry the burden anymore and I have to let it go. This, from what I can tell is what’s happening to you a lot. You are loved by a lot of people, and they won’t stop loving you, but they will, and have started to stop caring about you and what happens to you. What’s the point when you don’t care yourself right?

I remember a night a few years ago at the Prince of Wales in Seymour, when you told me you were a heroin addict. My hear t broke. All I could think was, how did this happen? How did I let this happen? You were my little bro; still a child and I hadn’t protected you. I wrote a song for you and for a while it seemed like all was well. But over the last few years you’ve gone back down that road and never looked back.

I think about the little blonde kid with the too big glasses. Always riding his BMX, or going fishing. Remember when we built the prickle tunnels? Remember grass sliding? What happened to that kid? I remember the little kid who used to love going outside and having fun. I remember the kid who loved skateboarding and had the talent to go pretty far with it. I remember the kid who played “A Link to the Past” with me. We named out character “LeJosh” and took it in turns. I remember the little guy we used to call the Milky Bar kid. I miss that guy. But he’s pretty much gone now. I know he still exists somewhere deep down inside you, but he’s trapped. Stuck inside this prison you’ve built out of drugs. Its like, that guy I remember is caramel, covered in Carob. Nobody likes fucking Carob man. It tastes like shit and everyone knows it’s fake. But caramel is fucking awesome.

I hope you do read this letter. Forgive the rambling, incoherent nature of it; I just have a lot to say. But I do hope you read it and maybe it reaches that small part inside of you that’s still you. Maybe it makes you realise what’s happening and gets you to think about making a change. Or maybe it doesn’t. Maybe you read this and go “Fuck you” and that’s fine too. But I get the feeling if that happens, in the not too distant future you’ll be in the ground and ruining one day a year.

Monday 8 August 2011

One short chapter

…Wake up…

…Jack…

…Come on dude, wake up seriously…

…They’re coming…


Jack slowly opened his eyes and could make out the silhouette of his buddy Sam in the dim light of the squat.  The dust he had taken earlier still hadn’t worn off. He was still high, but was coming down and he knew it was going to be a bad day.

“Who’s coming dude?” Jack asked irritably, “Why’d you wake me? I was having the best dust-out.”
Sam was clearly distressed, but through the haze of the drugs Jack hadn’t noticed.
“They dude! THEY!” Sam was pleading with Jack to understand. Jack, sat upright, rubbed his eyes and looked around the dingy room they were in.  The squat they had chosen this time. All of the windows were poorly boarded up and sunlight filtered in through the filthy, grime covered windows. What little sunlight did penetrate the room, did not illuminate a pretty picture. Jack and Sam were in one corner on an old, musty mattress that looked as though it had served as somebody’s death bed. Old newspapers, dead insects and rodents, broken glass and various other detritus supplied the remaining décor. Jack’s mind was fogged from the dust, but slowly the reality of what Sam was telling him started to creep in.

“OH FUCK! We have to get the fuck outta here dude. Like now!” Jack jumped up and started heading for the door. Sam followed,
“No shit! Why do you think I was trying to wake you up. I told you this place wasn’t safe anymore. I told you we should find somewhere new before you dusted-off, but you, you couldn’t wait you…you fucken junkie!”
“Hey fuck you! You wanted to do it just as much as I did, so don’t get all high and mighty on me now when everything has turned to shit!” Jack took a deep calming breath, wrestling with the dust for complete control of his mind.

“Look, we’ve come closer than this before. We just need to relax. If we panic we’re fucked”.
“Ok Jack, I trust you, but if I fucken die, everytime you dust-off I am going to be haunting you and you’ll never have a good high again”. Sam was half joking, but Jack knew the threat was serious.
“Ok, ok. Here”. Jack thrust something at Sam. It was small mechanical box, no bigger than a wallet. There was no display or interface except for a big red button and a smaller green one on the side. Protruding from the top was a coiled black wire with what looked like a large hypodermic needle attached to the end.

“You know what to do” Jack said as he pulled out his own box. “Go on plug it in”. Jack lifted up his shirt to reveal a small hole to the left of his belly-button. It looked red and inflamed. Jack forced the needle into the hole and held the box in his hand, his finger hovering over the green button. He waited for Sam to do the same.
“Hurry the fuck up. They’re coming. You know it doesn’t hurt. What’s the problem?”
“ I can’t fucken do it Jack, I hate it. Shoving dust up there is one thing but this…it’s weird and wrong”.
Jack spoke matter-of factly “Listen Sam, either you do it or you die what’s it gonna be?”
“You do it” Sam pleaded.
“I told you last time that it was the last time”
“PLEASE Jack!”
A crash from downstairs cause them both to look around.
“You don’t have much time Sam, it’s now or never”.
The sound of boots on the stairs and the muffled screams of other squatters filled the small room.
“This will be the last time I promise Jack. Please just do this for me, I don’t wanna die and I just can’t jack-out by myself”
“FINE! But this is seriously the last time”
There were voices coming from downstairs now, getting closer and louder.
“Alright men, we’re here to find these dirty dust-bunnies. No fuck-ups and no corpses, we need ‘em alive”.

Jack and Sam could hear the whine of the power-cuffs powering up.
“Give it to me!” Jack said as he grabbed the box out of Sam’s hands. “Turn around”
Sam lifted up her shirt and Jack plugged her in.

“Ready. We need to do this together”. Their fingers hovered over the green buttons.
The bootsteps, voices and power-cuffs were getting louder. The sounds had reached the door. Jack mimed three fingers. Three. Two. One. Jack and Sam hit the green buttons simultaneously. The small boxes started to vibrate and grew rapidly hotter, until they were almost too hot to hold. Sam had a pained look on her face as she struggled to keep hold of the box as it grew hotter and hotter in her hand. Jack grabbed Sam’s free hand and whispered something to her, she gave him a weak smile and steeled herself. They both knew that any second the Harvest soldiers would break the door down and come for them, they just needed a few more seconds. The heat from the boxes travelled up the coils, through the needles and into Jack and Sam’s bodies.
“Here we go again” Jack said through gritted teeth. The soldiers had started trying to break down the door. Again and again they bashed against it steadily weakening it.
“HOLD ON SAM! It’s happening!”. The heat from the boxes had now enveloped Sam and Jack’s entire bodies and was flowing through the whole of their beings and their joined hands. The soldiers finally broke down the door power-cuffs in hand.

“GRAB THEM! DON’T LET THEM JACK-OUT!” The lead soldier was determined not to let Sam and Jack slip away again. The soldiers readied their power-cuffs and took aim.
“NOW!” Jack shouted, and he and Sam hit their red buttons.
“NO!” screamed the lead soldier, as Jack and Sam appeared to vaporise in front of his very eyes.
“FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. SHIT!”, the soldier shouted as he tried to tear the room apart with his bare hands. “Let’s go”.

As the Harvest soldiers slowly filed out of the room, the lead soldier stayed behind for a few seconds and stared at the scorched floor where Sam and Jack had stood moments before. He turned with a snarl and followed his men into the stairwell.  Dozens of junkies hovered a few feet above the floor, ensnared in the field generated by the power-cuffs. A small amount of distortion appeared to shroud the captured junkies. What appeared to be a small bolt of lighting extended from the shroud and back into the power-cuffs held by several of the Harvest soldiers.
“Any of these pieces of shit dust-bunnies?!” asked the lead soldier.
“None sir, just a regular collection of junkies, a few crack heads, and even a few using Heroin. I didn’t even think that existed anymore?”
“It doesn’t matter what they were using, if it wasn’t dust I don’t care. Kill them all.”
“But sir..”

The lead soldier turned and glared at the man holding the power-cuffs who had questioned him. “Are you questioning my authority? Do you want me to take you to meet “our cousins”?
“No sir, no sir. I will comply with your orders sir. My apologies sir.”
“That’s what I thought. No get on with it. Oh and I know most of these pieces of shit have no feeling left since they dissolved their brains, but try and make it painful”.
The back-talking soldier gulped and croaked “Yes, sir”.
The lead soldier turned and headed down the stairs. As he opened the doors at the bottom he stepped out into the sunlight to the sound of screams from the dying junkies.
“What a day to be alive”. A chilling smile creeping across his face.

Tuesday 19 July 2011

Travelling on the Brink – The Story of Winning Part 2

Do you know what happens on an aeroplane for 23 hours? I can tell you. Absolutely nothing. Well not absolutely nothing. You get a sore back, sore legs, sore neck. You get to experience the wonderful lack of sleep that comes with international air travel and you get to go slightly mad due to a combination of boredom and repeats of “Two and a Half Men”. Shudder. After seeing six episodes of “that show”, back to back, I am of the honest opinion that anyone can write in Hollywood. Here’s my pitch.

Charlie's Brother Whatshisname: Charlie, you really shouldn’t sleep with so many women
Laugh Track
Charlie: Why not?
Laugh Track
Whatshisname: It sets a bad example for my fat son.
Laugh Track
Fat Son: Don’t worry Dad, Charlie already set me straight. Men are supposed to sleep with as many women as they can. It helps reinforce the misogynistic stereotype that’s prevalent in television.
Laugh Track
Fat Maid: Disparaging comment about Charlie’s penis.
Laugh Track with whistling
End episode.
Ugh. It’s just awful. So that tripe got me from Melbourne to Broome but what was I to do for the next 10 hours in my small economy seat, trapped between a hulking, sweating blancmange of a man and an old lady with a bladder the size of a pea. No pun intended. Sleep was out of the question and I’d already grown sick of the tiny screen in the back of the chair in front of me, so instead I merely sat and waited. Sat and waited for 10 hours, the ten most boring, tiring and excruciatingly mind numbing hours of my life. Every now and then one of the cabin crew would offer me a drink or something to eat and I would graciously accept the meagre rations. When they moseyed off I would devour their offering with the veracity of a sewer rat. When I wasn’t waiting for more food and water like some P.O.W., I was wiggling my toes, staring blankly at the ceiling or fighting a strong urge to pick my nose, which had become the driest place on earth. Surely someone, somewhere must have developed a way for aeroplane air conditioning to not desiccate you from the inside out. I swear that pieces of my brain had cracked off and fallen into my nasal cavity. At least I had a reason to get up and go to the toilet often, even if it was one as disgusting as picking 40kg rocks out of my nose.
Every few minutes I checked the flight guide channel on the miniscule screen in front of me.

Surely it’s been an hour or so since last time, I thought. Wrong!
01.01  am – 8538km and 11 hours remaining.
Times passes…
01.13 am – 8503km and 11 hours remaining.
And it went on like this for most of the flight. No wonder I drove myself mad.
Finally and eventually we neared Dubai and I felt a huge sense of relief surge through me. Well it was either that or the blood circulating again after I’d been sat in the one spot for nigh on 6 hours.
The descent seemed to take twice as long as the flight and then we landed. And then it dawned on me. I was halfway across the planet from home. I was in the Middle East. I was, I was…DYING FOR A CIGARETTE! It had been 18 hours since my last one and I was half tempted to eat one from my pack. It didn’t help matters that the airport was huge and we still hadn’t reached the terminal after 15 minutes on a shuttle bus. Then came customs, then came the crowds at duty free and then came the dawning realisation that there wasn’t anywhere to smoke. I walked back and forward up the terminal and saw countless prayer rooms, showers, toilets and shops, but not one place to have a quick ciggy! I found the nearest info desk and asked where I could smoke. The lady behind the counter smiled and pointed past me and said “Just near gate 121”.
Can’t be too far
I was at gate 237. It was pretty much a full kilometre from where I was, but I wasn’t going to let a little thing like agonizing fatigue stop me from having that smoke. So I set off. Almost immediately I noticed something was not quite right.
Ow. Ouch. Ow. What the…?
14 hours squirming in my seat while wearing jeans had left me with the worse chafe of my life. Every step was like someone was running a belt sander on my inner thighs. But still I was undeterred. I set off down the terminal like some deranged cowboy, wincing and cursing the whole time. After about 20 minutes I reached the tiny, cramped and smoke filled room where smoking was allowed. The door was propped open, entirely defeating the point and people were huddled round like hobos over a drum fire. 
This is so sad I thought as I gleefully took my first drag in almost 20 hours.
 Look at these poor fools, trying to get in a quick smoke before their flights,
Deep drag in
You really must be desperate
Big breath out.
My smoke was finished in record time and I thought about having another but decided against it as I only had an hour or so before my flight and I wanted to have a quick shower. All of my clothes and toiletries were in my checked luggage but I had my wallet and was in the hugest duty free shopping centre I’d ever seen.
I spotted a chemist first and went in to buy soap and deodorant.
What the hell? How much is 30 in Australian money?
Dejected I walked out of the chemist and prepared to stink my way from Dubai to London. But wait! I had my phone in my pocket. I dialled my best mate… come on… pick up…
Hello.
Hey man, can you tell me what 30 Dubai moneys is in Australian?  He just laughed.
What’s their currency?
How the hell should I know? I’m at the airport and need to buy some crap can you tell me or not?
Aw nah man, I’m at uni, I’m not even near a computer, so how was your…click!
Useless.
I tried my next trustiest number
Brrrp. Brrrp.
Hello?
Hey Dad, can you tell me what the conversion between Australian and Dubai money is?
Hold on a sec…okay basically it’s a third. So whatever it costs, divide it by three and that’s the Australian equivalent.
Thanks Dad. Bye. Click.
So armed with this new knowledge I set out to by the essentials for my shower. At the chemist I bought, deodorant and soap. At a clothing store I bought socks, underpants and a t-shirt. I headed back towards the gate our flight was from and found the nearest shower block.
Great! I have an hour still before my flight. This is going to be awesome
Or so I thought. Once again, fate had conspired against me. In the shower block there were 5 cubicles, yet only 2 were operating. I was 4th in line to use one of them. For twenty minutes or so, nobody went in and nobody came out. Then finally, at almost the same time two guys came out and two more went in. Leaving me clear to go next. Another twenty five minutes passed and on the inside I was raging.
Who the F### takes this long when they know there is a line out here. Motherf@#kin , inconsiderate pieces of sh!#.
I was very, very cranky.
I was doing my very best to keep calm, relax and wait my turn and was just about to lose the battle when the cubicles became free again.
I practically ran into my cubicle and was almost naked before I opened the door. I didn’t care; I wanted this shower more than I wanted the smoke. And there was no way I was missing my flight. So I stripped down and soaped up and I have to say that there has never been a more luxurious shower than that scummy, lime scaled and low water pressure cubicle in Dubai airport, terminal 232.
I showered as quickly as I could, because I am considerate and then turned the water off.
Now where’s that towel? Wait a minute. What towel?! I don’t have a towel and I didn’t buy a towel! FUUUUUUUUU…..
I was running out of time and I couldn’t miss my flight, but if I didn’t dry myself I was going to spend the next 7 hours, wet, uncomfortable and chafed. I grabbed my dirty t-shirt and removed as much water from my body as I could before the shirt was sopping and useless. My sweaty and frankly gnarly under pants came next. I used the outside of them as best I could. They took up approximately 30ml of water before they became useless. Then came my socks. They fared better than the undies, but not by much.
Great! I had a shower and now I smell of feet, sweaty balls and BO.
It wasn’t quite that bad, but I did feel as though the point of the shower had been defeated. My hair was dripping, my skin was only half dry and the clean clothes I bought were clinging to me. I was uncomfortable and unhappy. And it was time to board the flight to London.
This was going to suck.

Travelling on the Brink - The Story of Winning - Part 1

So it was with anxious and nervous excitement that I sat in my tiny, almost windowless office one fateful Thursday afternoon. Entries for the competition had closed the previous day and I had a sneaking suspicion that the organisers would be calling the winners that day. Not really expecting to win, but hoping against hope I was struggling to complete any real work and found myself staring at my phone to once again check and recheck that the battery still had charge and that signal was still being received. And like the 19 previous times I'd checked, both battery and signal were strong.

I needed a distraction, something, anything to take my mind off waiting for a phone call that would probably never come. So I attempted to do some real work. I failed. No sooner had I opened a report to start work on it did my right hand, as if I had developed alien hand syndrome, move the mouse over to my web browser and open my favourite gaming website. I perused the forums, replying to a few posts and for a while I was distracted. However; the distraction didn't last and gradually, that itching, clawing sensation in my stomach, less like butterflies and more like ravenous porcupines, came roaring back with a vengeance. This was getting ridiculous.

A cigarette would calm my shaky nerves I thought. So I grabbed my phone and a smoke and headed outside to carcinogenically calm myself. The smoke was gone in less than two minutes as I tried to inhale the whole thing in one fell swoop. Damn! It hadn't really worked. Now, not only did I have rabid porcupines in my stomach, my head was lighter than a feather and the world was spinning around me. This can't go on, I thought. If I didn't hear something soon, I was going to end up in the E.R. Making my way back to my desk, dizzy and somewhat nauseas I checked my phone once again. No miraculously missed calls, no emails, no texts. What is this! Not only have I not heard any news about the competition, but now I find that no one loves me.

That's when I felt it. The initial vibration of the handset before the ringtone can begin. Buzz. Buzz. Buzzzzzzzzzz. It was like Ambrosia. I looked at the screen as my ringtone finally started. The theme song from "Dexter". There was no name on screen, only 10 digits. The final 8 don't really matter, only the first two.

(02).

A zero and then a two. This meant that the call was coming from New South Wales. I knew the offices of the company running the competition were in New South Wales. I don't know anyone else in New South Wales do I? Could this be it? A full moon must have risen in my stomach as the porcupines were now were-porcupines, gnashing and tearing and ripping my insides to shreds. With shaky hands I hit receive.
"Hello, Leo speaking"
"Hi Leo. We're just calling to tell you that we think you have the goods and want you to travel to London with us to play in the Brink tournament"



Silence

"Are you ***ink kidding me! Oh *** sorry! Oh man that's not better"
My hands were shaking. My knees were weak and I felt nauseas again, but in a good way.
"Of course we are serious! You're going to London!"
"HOLY CRAP!!! Thank you so much, this is insane! Oh my god!"
The voices on the other end explained that I would receive an email later on in the day and that they required some information to organise the trip but by then I was only half listening. My mind was racing with fantastical images.
Me riding on the top of a double decker.
Me standing in front of Buckingham Palace in a bearskin hat.
Me being knighted by Her Majesty the Queen.
Each successive thought became more outrageous and outlandish. In my mind I was already going to usurp the throne and become the next King of England. At least that's how amazing I felt after hearing the good news.
The phone call ended and I was shaking and spent. It was surreal and suddenly the volume of the world got turned turn down to about half. There was a buzzing in my head that was deafening and drowning out real life. Stomach Van Helsing must have arrived as my insides were quieted. I put my phone back on my desk and once again attempted to get some work done.

Once again. I failed.

My Life as a Gamer - Part 3 - The Robotic Rock

When my gaming addiction was budding and it didn't seem like anything other than good, fun and easy games existed I came across a game that changed my perception forever. Even as a 5/6 year old I knew art when I saw it and if this game was a painting it would be the Mona Lisa. Easy to admire, interesting to observe, but difficult to fully grasp and comprehend. This game is of course Megaman 2. From the opening Capcom jingle, to the final desperate struggle to Dr. Wily, Megaman 2 positively shines. The blue bomber rightfully holds a place in my top 10 favorite game characters of all time and here's why.

Every hero needs to stand on a tall building, with the wind in their hair and contemplate their mission.

Megaman 2 was one of the first, somewhat, non-linear game I ever played. Sure the levels all go left to right and there's only one path to each boss but, it's the order of the bosses that makes it so compelling. You can choose any level you want in any order you want, at any time you want. You have the power! Be it Air Man, Quick Man or Metal Man, each has their own unique strengths and weaknesses and depending on your choices you may end up playing the ultra, mega hard version of the game. As a small boy this was simply incredible. I couldn't fathom that the game could do something like that and I was convinced that the game could think. It was determined to stop me from winning, so I was doubly determined to beat it. There was no way the I, a boy of flesh and blood would be beaten by the grey box of doom......But I was, many many, many times. I took the wrong path through the bosses and saw my little blue champion explode over and over again. Thus the seed was planted in me for what all gamers eventually develop. Nerd Rage. Being 5/6 the rage was relatively tame and easy to control, but it was ever present, bubbling under the surface and ready to explode at any instant. Eventually the idea of beating them in the correct order came to me. Slowly I began to realize that order and gain more confidence in beating the game. The nerd rage was kept in check and I finally beat the last boss, who for me turned out to be Quick Man, or so I thought.


MegaMan has obviously "puffed" the Magic Dragon

As Quick Man's body disintegrated, I remember doing my first "Completion Dance of Excitement"TM. I was ecstatic...for about 4 seconds. After I defeated Quick Man, the game revealed to me its true self. Not only was I not finished, I was faaaar from finished. WHY?! Why is it doing this to me! Nerd Rage rising my "Completion Dance of Excitement"TM morphed into my first "Unbelieving Defeated Foot Stomp of Death" (Patent Pending). All this dancing and stomping and grunts of dismay had attracted the attention of my Dad.

"What the bl***dy hell is going on in here?!", "Nothing Dad, I promise". I knew I had to hide my true nature for it would be shunned by society. They've never accepted beasts. Think of Frankenstein, Dracula or the kid you used to have to "get off ground around".

"Well, whatever you're doin', just stop it. If you can't play quietly and without screaming at the TV you won't play at all". Oh this won't do, this won't do at all. This game is trying to get me banned. It wants me to get mad enough so my Dad stops me from playing, that way I'll never beat it. Well not in my house!
With renewed calm and determination I continued down the path to Dr. Wily, the devious creator of the 8 robots I had just destroyed.


I wonder if Crash Man's name has anything to do with what that guy in the middle does?

I picked up the controller, selected Dr. Wily from the level select and hit Start. This has to be it, I thought. Oh how wrong I was again. This game hates me. I hate it, its stupid, it's too hard and I never want to play it again. This was exactly my thoughts when I realized what was in front of me before I got to Wily. Apparently the crafty devil had built two of each of the bosses, as well as a giant dragon-bot. And to make matters worse he lived at the end of the longest, most dangerous road I'd ever seen. Seriously, why would an evil genius live in a castle surrounded by swamps, forests, saw mills, laser death traps and fire breathing robo-dragons, He's obviously an idiot. At least I have all my powers, these guys will be cake. And they were, at least at first. But the levels got progressively harder, the bosses more than twice as tough as when we last danced in battle and the normal baddies were now super baddies. Geez, Dr. Wily really doesn't want to get caught! After many nights and days of trying, dying and trying again I finally made it to Wily. Haha you old geezer, you're going down!His door contracted upwards and I jumped into the screen so MegaMan would hover in the air for a few seconds as the screen scrolled. (N.B. Many years later Trinity would copy this move in the opening scene of the Matrix). With trepidation, sweaty palms and the devil inside ready to burst I faced Wily. Quick Man's Laser will do the trick, Wily is going down. SoI used the laser. Wily's health barely flinched. Saw blade? Same thing. His hover car of death was making short work of my health bar and even after beating his robotic army twice I still couldnt even scratch his paint. Why wont you die?! The beast was anxious, but I kept it in check. I hadn't come this far just to get banned. I tried every weapon twice, and nothing worked. All I had left was the useless weapon I hadn't bothered with as every other enemy I faced had laughed it off. Bubble Man's bubble beam. As if bubbles can kill a super death carI thought, but what choice did I have. With a brand new health bar after being freshly trounced by Wily I equipped my Bubble Beam and entered the boss room once again. No lives left, it was do or die time. If i dies again, I would certainly get banned after the NES had been drop kicked through the TV. I couldn't let that happen. I had to win. I readied myself and Wily dived at me. I fired my pathetic Bubble Beam.......
Wily's health dropped by almost a 1/4. WHAT THE HELL?!I couldn't believe it. The one weapon that could do no harm to anything else in the game, could apparently obliterate the end boss. I fired again and again, pumping round after round of sudsy water at the old crazy haired coot and he went down. He went down hard. I was victorious. I had beaten the unbeatable game. I was the king of the NES!
"Hey Leo" Dad called from the front door as he came in. "I got a new game for ya to play" It was serendipity, not that I knew what that was back then, but a new game just as I finish an old one. "Yay Dad! What is it?" "Well I thought you'd like it. It's Megaman 3!" THE BEAST AWOKE!

Next time - There's a "Super" Nintendo? Yes son but you're banned remember?

My Life as a Gamer - Part 2 - Aquatic Birds and a Rabbit's Birthday

After I became addicted to video games on that fateful day in 1989 I had to have more games to play, all the time. Thankfully back then, my Dad was just as into gaming as I was, so he gladly bought the games on his own, with minimal haranguing from me. Two of my earliest games I can remember (apart from the wonder that is SMB) are Duck Tales (by Capcom) and Bugs Bunny's Birthday Blowout (By Kemco). Both games were platformers like Mario (my first gaming love) and both were licensed properties. Yet both hold dear and warm places in my heart and if you'll bear with me I'll explain why.


Not Pictured: Swimming Pool filled with Gold Coins

I'm not sure when I first played Duck Tales, how far I got into the game or even if I was good at it, but what I do remember is how much fun I had. Capcom, even then, were masters of the video game art. The game was simple yet elegant and devilish in its difficulty. You play as Scrooge McDuck who decides that he is not quite the richest duck in the world and sets off to collect riches all throughout the world to achieve that goal. Riveting stuff. However, I clearly remember having the time of my life playing it. Bouncing around the screen as old Scrooge, using his cane as a pogo stick and of course, enduring monumental slowdown when 4 or more sprites appeared on screen at once. I remember the sound effects and the music. I remenber the enemies and their patterns. But most of all I remember it being the soundtrack to my life, for at least a long while when I was 5. It may have been a week but to a child a week is an eternity. I recently bought a copy of Ebay and played it again. All of those old feelings flooded into me, and suddenly, if only for a few minutes I was back as a 5 year old, cross legged in front of the TV trying to figure out just how something so wonderous could exist.


What's up DOTS!?

Ahem. Excuse me. Just ignore that pun and move on with the blog shall we. Ahh Bugs Bunny's Birthday Blowout (BBBB). This was the absolute crowning jewel of my game collection back when I got it. I remember that I had received the game as a gift for my 5th birthday. My Dad, as you can probably gather, was nuts for cartoons, games, you name it. As such I had grown up with a healthy diet of Looney Toons, Anime and Gaming. I was a Bugs Bunny addict at 5 years, I even had a stuffed toy rabbit I had named Bugs. When I got the game for my birthday, I hit the roof with excitement. Not only was it my birthday, it was Bugs Bunny's as well. It was so cool. My birthday that year fell on a school night so Dad let me play until about 7.30-8pm before he caved and told me I had to go to bed. I was a good kid so I complied but Dad could tell I was depserate to play more so he promised me if I got up extra early I could play a bit before school. Well, famous last words. It's a story I've heard my Dad tell many times and it goes like this...
"Suddenly, in the middle of the bl***y night I can hear something. It's pitch black, so I'm thinking to myself, what the hell is that. I'm listening harder and then it gets clearer. LA LA LA LA LA. It was that f****n music from BBBB! I look at the clock next to the bed. 3-effin-30. So up I get, tired as all F$@#, stagger into the lounge room still half asleep and see Leo cross legged in front of the TV, huge grin on his face, bouncing up and down, playing the Nintendo. He spots me and I half whisper, Leo it's 3 in the effin morning, you've got school tomorrow, get that off and get to bed".
Ha! It makes me laugh every time and was probably a good indicator of my future levels of gaming obsession. In fact, that was just the tip of the iceberg...

Next time: A man made of rocks, who's also a robot?!

My Life as a Gamer - Part 1 - 1989

The 1980′s in Australia were a different, simpler time. It wasn't unusual for kids to play outside without supervision. A scraped knee wasn't treated with an unnecessary hospital visit or a week off from school. Schoolyard fights were played out and soon forgotten. No one had ADD, or ADHD and no one was taking Ritalin. But the times, as famously expressed though song, were a-changing. In 1989 I was 4 years old. Already I was obsessed with TV, cartoons and gadgets. I can clearly remember being told "Go play outside!" to which I replied, "I don't want to, the sun gives me a headache".


In Mario we trust

So it was one fateful day that my Dad returned home with a strange package under his arm. He unpacked it, inserted the grey square of plastic and turned the power on. Hey! I thought, A new cartoon. YAY! Then Dad picked up the other plastic square. It had buttons on it. No don't change the channel Dad, this cartoon looks funny. He hit one of the buttons and the screen changed. My heart sank for an instant, until the little man appeared on screen again. Why won't he do anything?, I thought, this is not a very good show!As I was about to give up on this bright and blocky new cartoon Dad turned to me, "Look Leo. When I press this button the little man jumps", and he pressed and the button and the man jumped. "WOW! How does it do that!". "Now if I press this button I can make him run." Dad hit the D-Pad and the little man sprinted across the screen. Bricks underfoot, blue sky up above. This was the most amazing cartoon I had ever seen. Dad took his thumb off the button and the little man stopped running. "What is that thing Dad? Is it a baddie?". Dad tried to hop over the strange mushroom man, but instead hit his head on the bricks above and landed directly in front of the advancing monster. The little man and the mushroom collided. Some ominous 8-bit midi notes played and the man died. "Is that the end? Did you lose?". "No I get another chance Leo. Look he has extra lives". That was the first time I had ever heard those two glorious words used in such a way. Extra lives. Extra. Lives. The little man could die, but he could come right back. He was tough, he didn't give up. He couldn't lose. Dad had another go and promptly fell into the first pit that presented itself. Then he was killed by a flying turtle. His screen read "GAME OVER". Game over? What happened to Extra Lives? So the little man wasn't immortal. He could lose. The stakes were raised.


In the beginning... Genesis Chapter 1 Verse 1

Dad handing me the controller said "Here Leo, you have a go. This one makes him run, this makes him jump". I sat in the floor cross legged. When the level started, I straightened my back and sat to attention. I avoided the first mushroom man, jumped on the bricks above him and hit the underside of the mystery box. A mushroom popped out. This one was different. It didn't look like the monster and it didn't come after me. I jumped onto the mushroom and suddenly my little man's world was changed. He…grew?! He wasn't a little man anymore. He was BIG! Now he was even tougher! No mushroom men, or flying turtles would stop me now. Anyone who had the pleasure and priveledge of playing this game whenit wasnewneed no further explanation of the joy felt by completing the first level. Those of you born to late to play it in the glory days will doubtless look at this post and think that I'm talking rubbish. Whatever your opinion on Super Mario Bros. I can't deny the profound effect it had on me as a young boy and as a person taking their first awkward steps towards becoming a gamer.

Next time: The tales of aquatic birds and a birthday party for a rabbit.