We’ll call it, ‘The Weiner.’
[via. dailywhat]
In all seriousness,
He seems like an earnest politician. Truly, I don’t think you can disagree that the point he makes is a sound one. And his point against the Republican Party is valid.
American politics, you never cease to amuse me.
Profound, minor heart-healing event of the day for me came when I checked up on the Official Team Fortress 2 Wiki, after I hadn’t visited for a while.
Right when I got there, this giant banner was on the front page:
I didn’t read the subtext, and only saw an smiling engineer tipping his hat to me, and the text ‘Destroy a wrench.’ So, curiosity got me, and I clicked.
Now a bit of backstory with Team Fortress 2. For those of you who don’t know, VALVe Software, creators of TF2, has always been a community-oriented game developer. Since their beginnings with the original PC Game, Half-Life, the player base on which VALVe has built an increasingly strong workforce has shown consistent dedication to the wants and requests of the community. Often, the people at VALVe adopt fan-favourite modifications (mods), or specific types of gameplay modes developed by gamers themselves within the game engine, as improved stand-alone games.
One mod, called Team Fortress from the game Quake, got interest from the managers of VALVe, who hired the modders as part of their team to create that stand-alone game, called Team Fortress Classic.
Old school and hardly remembered, it was the predecessor of the now popular PC game that is Team Fortress 2, released almost a decade later.
History brief over. Take a breather, you disinterested chump.
The point is, VALVe is one of the rare game developers out there who not only listen to their fanbase, but depend on them to shape their future products, plans, and direction to go towards. At least, from the three years I’ve played TF2, that’s the feeling I got.
That kind of mindset and company philosophy got embodied within the confines of Team Fortress 2 through the numerous ‘major updates’ released. The introduction of unlockable weapons, achievements, new maps, the dropping & crafting systems etc. The feedback was mixed, and so VALVe enacted changes. They also decided to theme them towards ‘class updates.’ In Team Fortress 2 there are nine playable classes, all with distinct and differing roles and responsibilities in-game.
The Golden Wrenches, to speak in layman’s terms, were the equivalent of the Crystal Skulls, a hidden Wikileaks Video, or the missing Eighth Wonder of the World. Within the Team Fortress 2 community, they were the idols of the TF2 universe, for an extremely condensed amount of time. As VALVe released through their blog, they introduced this new item as something to marvel at, cower under those who obtained it, and worship until the day of the update. It was Zeus' thunder, God’s hand, and VALVe’s newest method in immersing their fanbase.
Believe me, I saw its effects. I had played my fair share of TF2, and I saw some wrenches drop. They were mysterious to me, something almost forbidden to my knowledge. I didn’t know of what it could do. Then I witnessed it.
Those who wielded the golden wrenches turned their enemies into frozen statues of gold, frozen in their last motion. It looked fun as hell, and by God, I wanted one.
But they went quickly, as I played, a cross-server announcement would released immediately after another wrench was randomly found somewhere across the network of servers and thousands of players. They had gone quickly.
And the Team Fortress 2 community, as with any, was not happy that some were getting more than others. It seemed the entire goal of the Golden Wrenches—to mark the coming of the last, true, ‘Class Update’, had been skewed by the player base that VALVe devotes its entire existence to. Like past events, the community was torn. The Wrench wielders were given bad community press by those who were bitter. A vocal minority, thankfully, but it struck home to the Wrench wielders. They were nothing but lucky, who could blame them for that? More importantly, who could they blame for their luck?
The fingers logically point at VALVe, but the community knows better, after various debacles, stirring controversies, and compromises made all around. If one were acquainted with the VALVe player community, you would know about the protests by a now notorious player community that had members spearheading boycotts for Left 4 Dead 2, without any knowledge of its quality of gameplay, before its release, the various update releases of TF2, facing protest blockades by outraged community members—specifically the drop system and crafting system, drawing comparisons to turning Team Fortress into a dreaded MMORPG.
Still, frantic community members obsessed with obtained the Golden Wrench crafted their entire backpacks of unlockables, leaving no duplicates for gameplay use, in a futile attempt to once again, cheat the system and beat VALVe at the game they’re trying to encourage you to play.
No one is better at Team Fortress 2 than VALVe, I’ll say that much.
The damage was done, and easily forgotten. The 100th Wrench had dropped, the update released, and the new unlockables enjoyed my masses of TF2ers. The Golden Wrench was an afterthought. Those who had it enjoyed it, and those who didn’t spoke little of it anymore, as like babies attuned to being handed a new rattle or pacifier, they were now occupied with something else.
That is until this banner showed up.
It linked to this site, about a lone Wrench Wielder who decided his luck was too much to the expense of his fellow players. He decided that, to maintain an inner respect for himself as a TF2 player, the Wrench must be destroyed, as he thought it brought too much mental stress, bad emotions, and misplaced rage to be a good thing.
I won’t go much into it, because I want you to read the site for yourself, now that I’ve given you the necessary information to absorb it with. It truly is an altruistic notion.
I think he plays Medic a lot, other than Engineer.
His name is WiNGSPANTT, and he is destroying his Wrench, #31, for charity.
No, not an in-game charity, like MMORPG’s guild halls, vendors, and for all I know, gentleman’s clubs, this was an actual charity, called Child’s Play.
A charity known in the gaming world as the people responsible for giving the gift of gaming to hospitalized children in hopes to make their stays more than hospitable, but just a bit more enjoyable. It’s a charity that works alongside some of the biggest names in the gaming industry, and as well, much like VALVe, works alongside the gamers themselves, like WiNGSPANTT.
A guy who’s taken the initiative to bridge the gap between reality and the game to make a difference. Out of all the chaos of the last class update, Child’s Play has partnered with WiNGSPANTT and the Team Fortress 2 VALVe team to give awareness to his cause.
Sacrifice a wrench, donate some money, and make a kid smile.
Who knew? The community was giving back. Giving back something real, I might add, which is rare in a virtual gaming community.
To me, this is a cause and effect case study. I’ve said previously VALVe is a community-based developer, they do things for their community in order to better their experiences playing a game VALVe made. They do it more so than most other developers.
Maybe, in some sort of space-time rift anomaly, it occurred to a community member, maybe several, maybe even most of them, that this could work both ways. Some might say I’m reading too much into it, and its just another nice guy who plays his favourite game trying to do something good for people, which in itself, is a hopeful thing.
But the fact that it spread from something normally filled with animosity, and given the emotional history of the dedicated community’s behaviour towards the developer that gives them a lot more than, dare I say, deserve—it’s still surprising to me.
A pleasant one at that. I was getting tired of the constant whining of gamers who didn’t want this weapon buff, or were pissed this one was taken away. Why was the Pyro given more DPS? How come the Heavy unlock does so little damage? These aren’t side-grades, their upgrades! I’ll admit, I haven’t been totally in tune with VALVe’s changes, but I had no right, personally, to call out on any bullshit that was going on, because I knew there wasn’t any.
I wanted to say, loud enough so the edges of the internet could hear me, ‘Just play the damn game!’ That’s all VALVe wants you to do. And when you get bored doing that, you have something to play for—achievements, unlocks, clan matches.
The beauty of fully online games is the community it produces. That’s why they are among the strongest gaming communities out of them all. People assemble naturally for a common goal, and that’s true outside of gaming too.
It’s more prevalent in real life, sure, but what about this?
Using the virtual world to benefit the actual one?
I’ll be damned if I ever would have guessed.
WiNGSPANTT has made almost $4,000 dollars in the combined efforts of the community and Child’s Play. If you can’t help out, spread the word to others for the sake of giving a good name to the gaming world, and making someone feel all tingly inside.
Some simple EPICture Mathematics:
One missed image x Another missed image =
One epic video.
I fail at keeping deadlines. Somebody needs to…
…play me off?
“Looks like somebody has a case of the caturdays.”
Ha.
[via thedailywh.at]
Someone posted a cam-cap of the first The Walking Dead trailer, centering on the main character, Rick Grimes, as he wakes to a world full of dead, decaying, brainthirsty zombie goodness!
Helmed by Frank Darabont and Gale Anne Hurd, maestros in their trade, the first press release that The Walking Dead had been greenlit gave me reason to smile enough. And this trailer proves that their expertise is probably going to show in this series.
Shows like Breaking Bad and Mad Men on AMC’S ‘Original Series’ roster give a lot of legitimacy and expectation to come from this series. As the trailer shows, it’s character based, not environment based, and seeing Rick Grimes for the first time as a live-action character is quite the sight. Played by Andrew Lincoln, Rick Grimes’ character development throughout the graphic novel series is what drives most of the narrative and emotional greatness of the comic. I’m hoping Darabont and Hurd can adapt that the best they can through live-action, by staying true to the writing of Robert Kirkman, and keeping the feel of the comic series alive.
From the production stills, it seems like that’s exactly what’s happening. The zombie extras go through zombie camp, the traditional way to train zombie extras, and the effects and makeup look like they came straight out of the comics. Blood-caked mouths, gray skin, beared broken teeth, and the iconic pupil-less eyes (but some appear reddish, which is even better) make this a fanboy’s dream.
So am I excited? Yes.
And you should be too.
The first season is slated for six episodes, and premieres with AMC’s Fearfest in October this year. They are filming right now, so expect more updates hopefully.
A pale stench invaded Yan’s nostrils and immediately jolted him upwards from the deeply soaked towel he had laid his head upon. He rubbed his nose and dry heaved to try to get the invasive smell off of him, only to discover that it was gone as quick as it had left him with an aftertaste in his mouth not different from the rotting corpses he had seen along the farmland. They had been burning, and were piled atop each other like a grotesque landfill of limbs and frozen faces. Yan had stopped then to look at them, each expression slightly different than other corpses, he noticed. Still, he could find every face with eyes almost leaving their sockets, teeth barred and revealed under white lips. Yan had stayed there for an hour, examining the bodies despite the putrefying stench, covering his mouth as he crawled closer in amazement.
It hadn’t bothered him then, but it bothered him now. He didn’t know why.
The farmland had been yesterday, which meant that Yan had slept at least fourteen hours, because of the sun setting in the east. The abandoned complex he decided to sleep on stood out from the rest of the landscape as he’d hiked along the barren road. Exhausted and aching, Yan took little time to decide if it was safe enough to hole up for the night, and climbed the three levels of stairs that surprisingly survived decay to reach the fourth, and only barely hospitable level, in the crumbling building.
Yan blinked three times to fully awaken himself, yawning widely, and feeling the bitter aftertaste of the stench in the back of his throat. He grabbed the damp towel and wrung it out to get rid of the wetness that Yan didn’t think could come from his head.
His shaggy, dark hair was wet all over, stick out and up and down on all sides from the sweating he had done while asleep. It looked as chaotic as the world outside the grey building he stood up to examine.
Yan found little to examine at all. Save for flat sheets of cardboard Yan failed to notice the night before, and plastic wrappers scattered across the floor, there was nothing. He circled the fourth level to make sure of what he was seeing.
Completely abandoned. No souls.
Yan shrugged slightly at the thought. No souls here, of course. Why would there be. He made his towards the stairs, limping.
The sun’s orange glow highlighted everything in front of him, the horizon, the black branches, a farmhouse half gone in the distance. Yan shielded his eyes with his palm as he limped slowly along the continuing road.
He cursed under his breath at the lack of time he was making before nightfall. His calf pained with the pressure put on it, and Yan winced with every step. But he had to quicken to avoid the Ferals.
“Swear to God…” Yan remembered the last time he encountered one. At that time, Yan still had a weapon, a tire iron he had found in an abandoned car. The fight was fierce and long. The feral was at most four feet tall, with the sharpest teeth Yan had ever seen, and nails that dug in harder than any leeches or claws Yan had the pleasure of experiencing firsthand.
It was also the most blood he had seen in a while since embarking on his trek. The tire iron lost a spoke with the force of the last hit, and Yan wanted to make sure it was dead. He or she, he couldn’t tell.
You can never tell with Ferals.
Yan looked down at his right calf, which was a faded purple colour and looked as if it had started swelling.
This wasn’t a Feral, but a Marauder that had straggled off from his clan, as Yan had heard him say. Of course, Yan didn’t know this was a Marauder, because there were no weapons, no makeshift armour on him, a bright smile, and greying hair on his sides. If anything, he looked like a stay-at-home dad, with grease stains on his face.
Experience with a Feral came in handy, as this hit against the Marauder didn’t break a spoke of the tire iron, but it did do its job. The brief tussle for possession of the tire iron ended in Yan’s deafening blow to the Marauder’s temple, but also resulted in the upswing for a second hit ending up in an empty hand and a sinking tire iron, into the swamp.
Yan looked at his empty, stained hands. Weaponless. Defenseless. Yan stopped in his tracks and bent down in a squat to pause and think about his chances.
Clan comes. Dead.
Feral comes. Dead.
Ferals come? Eaten.
And the Gassers…
Yan shuddered at the idea of Gassers coming to claim him. He scrunched his brow as he rubbed it. He could feel a headache coming on.
The sun’s light now only peaked above the horizon, as Yan looked up into the sky. The Moon was not far off, brighter than he had ever seen it. He stopped again to enjoy the little peace he had left to marvel at.
A loud rumble approaching the hill of the road twisted Yan’s head immediately. He could see bright headlights coming fast towards him, over the hill now.
“Fuck.”
Yan looked around the narrow road for a hiding spot, and spotted the shallow ditch by the side of the road. By instinct, he took one step and dove into the tall grass, hitting his calf on the hard, dry soil.
As he yelped loudly in pain, the vehicle stopped just beside him.
After the pain subsided, Yan slowly crawled upwards to the edge of the ditch, and peeked his eyes upwards at the car’s undercarriage. The door opened on the far side and he saw feet land onto the road. The clunk of the dark, sturdy standard-issue combat military boots sounded like a monster’s thundering stomps to Yan’s ears. He was sweating profusely. No weapon.
Defenseless.
He crawled back down into the ditch, and laid limp, face down. Fast thinking. Okay. Lay limp. Yeah. You’re dead. Don’t even breathe. You’re a corpse. No prisoner here. Just a corpse. A stinking, sweaty, audibly heaving corpse. God damn it.
Yan laid as still as a terrified, defenseless refugee could.
Silence. The clunk—the thundering stomp of the boots stopped.
“Lever.”
What?
“Se lever.”
Something sharp prodded Yan’s side. Not enough to hurt him though. But facing the soil, Yan’s face was perplexed. Gun barrels aren’t sharp. This wasn’t a Marauder.
He jolted around quickly, to catch a glimpse of the person.
She screamed.
He screamed, and scrambled to his knees, arms raised in defense looking at her.
Her eyes were as wide as the ones in the farmland body piles, only these were hazel, not white and dry, and her skin was fair, not pale. She wore a brown baseball cap to conceal her hair, witch swayed behind her in a long ponytail. She stood almost as tall as Yan, probably not heightened by her combat boots, which were accompanied by a full chem-suit, unzipped to her waist. The sleeves of it were rolled up and her arms were shaking, holding the crossbow at Yan’s chest with rubber-gloved hands.
Yan was still examining her as she called out again.
“Qui êtes vous?”
Yan struggled to comprehend.
“Qui êtes vous?!”
This time she yelled it, and shuffled closer to Yan, who tried to move back, and fell back into the ditch.
He saw the sky dimming as night was beginning to set in. The French girl blocked his view of the stars. This time her face was of less concern and more of pity.
She panted lightly as Yan stared at her, his arms scrunched against his chest, hands barely protecting him from the arrow cocked and loaded at his heart. She bent down two feet away from Yan’s face lying in a ditch.
Her pauses made Yan uncomfortable as she said, “Who—”
“—are”
She poked him harder with the arrow. He winced, “Ow.”
“—you?”
Yan motioned to her to try and get up, and she finally complied. She moved back to beside her car, and Yan slowly made his way up from the ditch, dusting himself off.
He had to be very visual with his hands to get the point across.
“Me? Not bad. No. I’m travelling…”
He put one palm flat, and used two fingers with his other hand to mimic walking. She stared judgmentally at him.
“No weapon.” Ch-chik. Pow. He cancelled out his gun miming with a big cross. “None.”
“Infecté?”
Yan’s face contorted into one of scrutiny at her.
“Non!” he said in a mocking accent.
She motioned towards him with the butt of her crossbow. He yelped at strafed behind the truck. After she laughed and laid down her weapon, he returned to talk to her.
“Can you understand me?”
“Oui.”
“Can you speak English?”
“Oui.” She threw the crossbow in the back of the car, a beat up hatchback with full burlap sacks attached with heavy-duty climbing rope to the top.
“Who are you?”
“A scientist, monsieur.”
“A chemist?”
“Non, un biologiste moléculaire.”
Yan scoffed. He paused for a moment, staring at her. Her arms remained crossed at her chest beside the passenger door. He whistled in sheer astonishment at his chances, and looked up at the dark sky. Crickets chirped, and he could hear the breeze.
“I am going. There is something I have to do,” she said while closing the door.
Yan hastily tapped the car. “Wait, wait!”
The rumble of the engine and heat from under the hood made Yan almost want to stay on her car, blocking her from moving.
“Take me with you.”
Her stare was blank, as she put on her high beams. He put his palms together in plead.
“Entrer.”
Yan’s smile was the first in a month, and he eagerly opened the passenger door and settled into the cramped hatchback.
“Mur-see.” He stuck out his hand.
Her smirk Yan knew was a condescending one, but he didn’t mind, because his calf was halfway to atrophying. She returned his handshake. And gave a name.
After I became 4chan’s bitch, at least on their music board, I relied on them to supply me with most of the obscure music I like to take pride in. So really, I’m a fraud and a hipster. But who isn’t?
Among those dangerously immersive ‘sharethreads’ was a recommended band by the name of Anywhen and specifically an album by the name of ‘The Opiates – Revisited.’ It seemed like the internet love for this album and band I had never heard of before was pretty much unanimous, so I decided to check it out.
Oh, and I forgot to mention that that certain sharethread was for depressing, sad music. Fit my mood at the time, don’t ask.
Combined with those distinctive vocals were the lyrics he sang about. And boy, these lyrics blew me away. They weren’t super-metaphorical or had literary prowess that would make a scholar do a double-take. No, they were simple, but they were written well; poetry, to an extent. Out of all the songs on ‘The Opiates – Revisited’, they all seem to deal with love, emotion, and sadness. If that’s not heavy enough, combine it with Feiner’s voice.
Lyrics from ‘All That Numbs You’ :
Take your battered soul, wear it as a crown
All that numbs you
Run a thousand miles, ‘till you hit the ground
All that numbs you now
And the days roll into one and the same on you
The world revolving around your spinning head
They’re not complicated lyrics to grasp, and I even get the vibe that these lyrics are not for sending a message, but part of the song as a whole. What I mean is, it stands alongside the atmospheric guitar, the jazzy, soft drums, sombre piano and additional horns as a part of the songs progression as music. But almost. It still maintains the center stage as what you listen to. And Feiner’s voice—yes, that penetrating voice, digs a hole into your head.
As unfortunate as it is, Anywhen broke up sometime in the early 2000’s, which left Thomas Feiner to complete the unfinished collaboration by himself, hence christening this album its ‘Revisited’ status.
Still, we can enjoy this album in its entirety, which is a lucky thing. /mu/ told me to do myself a favour and download the album, so I’ll repeat their words and tell you to do yourself a favour and download or buy this album.
Also, Thomas Feiner is Swedish. Fuck yeah.
It’s actually as unlikely as you think.
But here’s a few examples:
Plus a plethora of more eye-pleasing packaging solutions at upstage.com.
This here is an example of what I call the best kind of graphic design, because of the irony in the marketing mindset that effortlessly combines itself with the minimalist efforts of graphic designers. It seems that the simpler the packaging gets, the more it stands out on the shelves from the more traditionally packaged, mass-produced items that crowd the shelves with it.
It seems to me, trying to look simpler makes the product stand out more. Which is a devilishly uncomplicated, yet efficient marketing solution, just like the designs on these items.
Honestly, this is the reason why I love graphic design. The marketing angle.
Yeah. God damn, do I love the marketing angle.
Go make some art, kids.
Sue me.
Also, reading that in your head should be "Epic-of-the-week” so it rolls off the mental tongue. Obviously it refers to the new blog event I promised would be a weekly thing, but unsurprisingly I forgot about it. So, let’s pretend that didn’t happen, and here’s another one.
RONALD. FUCKING. MCDONALD.
