BUTT

Yeah but Cybermark was like 11 or 12 when Smith died.

I'm sure the radio edit will remove that hot ambient intro from the song. And really, that's the best part of it. "Chinese Democracy" went from a B- to an A- for me when they added that minute o' bullshit at the beginning. Every album should have a long drawn out beginning.

I support Czech's "boarding hard" initiative as a way to ensure the survival of the board. Everybody needs to step up their game and start making posts that, as Mr. Bonaduce would say, will shake your foundation, shake the fucking rafters, and nobody'll ever be the same. Unfortunately, I am not the one to make these posts, as I've never been particularly good at boarding. My first couple of years at this board are kind of a blur to me. At the time, I stuck mainly to the wrestling, music, games and CE forums, so I didn't really get into the personal stuff. I knew the names, but I didn't know who any of the people behind the TSM posts were. Then, one day in '04, I ventured into the Hardcore Discussion folder, and saw a thread called "One time, I kicked a girl in the vagina." Suddenly I made an important discovery: The Smart Marks are fucked in the head. This lesson stuck with me over the next four years. Who, pray tell, is the most popular poster on this board? Milky, that's who! And why? Because he's a fuckin' craven sociopath, that's why! Is Milky real or gimmick? Probably a lot of column A and a little of B. But that doesn't matter. The point is that it makes for good message boarding. So, I propose a new direction for TSM. One that some would say we've been following for quite a while. The mission is the be the absolute biggest fucking jerks anywhere on the 'net. I know a lot of y'all are probably too nice to be dicks in real life. But it's time to separate reality from board. I'm reminded of a John Leguizamo sketch comedy called "House of Buggin'" which aired on FOX in 1995. The explanation of the term "buggin'" was: "the state of truly free insanity where the rules of life have been temporarily suspended and all behavior, no matter how outrageous, is deemed appropriate." That's how I envision this board. I want TSM to be the motherfuckin' House of BUGGIN'. As long as it doesn't cross over into the illegal. So sorry Brody, no pedos, no necros, no...bestios? Zoophos? Oh, and no furries either. But what TSM needs is its own niche, something that really defines us as a board. Like DVDVR? They're wrestling geeks. The Pit? That's the neocon board. TSM? Oh, those dudes are ASSHOLES. The fucking scum of the internet. Have they no decency? The only problem is that I don't know this plan would be implemented. Truthfully, I'm not much of a dickhead myself. I'm going to need some help. But I have a feeling you guys can pull it out. Come on, Smart Marks. Unleash your inner shithead. TSM WE BUGGINNNNNNNNNNNNN

Those videos are terrible. I sure hope they never make it to TV.

Obama should have bought his grandmother a tv. Shows the kind of man he his, wont even buy his grandma a tv, she has to rely on others to donate it to her.

Hey, the SNES game had a strategy guide in every box. But it didn't come with a (not red) Badge of Courage.

Someone should write a book about this whole story when it's over. It's absolutely amazing that what was supposed to be their biggest show ever turned out to be their death knell. I knew watching it that it was the beginning of the end, but I didn't know it actually WAS the end. Just freakin' incredible.

That Wii Music tracklist is amazing. It has freakin' "I've Been To Paradise But I've Never Been To Me," the song Edie sang at Julie's brithday party in the first season of Desperate Housewives. Now that's a winner. Sorry Andrew, I still think this game could be fun. Big Dumb Fun. And 1up liked it a lot. I'm sure you can pull out some reason why 1up is disreputable, but we can do that for every game site. Which isn't to say that rating from IGN is without merit. After all, a 5.0 from IGN is like a 2 from a normal gaming site. So, maybe Nintendo made a game that isn't very good by your standards, or Matt from IGN's standards, because it isn't aimed at you or him. There's nothing nefarious about that. If the casual gamers decide that Wii Music is a lot of fun, does that validate Nintendo's approach? Or does it just make the gamers morons? Conduit, maybe. High Voltage is making a real effort to make an FPS that stands up to what the other consoles are doing. If it succeeds maybe that will prove that Wii is an effective platform for those games if you actually put some time and care into it rather than shitting out a cheap port of Far Cry or Brothers in Arms. CoD: World at War, on the other hand, probably shouldn't be on Wii. Those PS3/360 games that get ported down to Wii because the publisher wants to make a few extra bucks rarely, if ever, turn out well. Actually, this new Call of Duty shouldn't even exist at all. Infinity Ward makes CoD, not Treyarch. I know Activision wants a new game in the series every year, so they alternate between dev teams, but all it's going to do is water down the franchise. Remember when Medal of Honor was a really big deal? That was only a few years ago. Now there are so many of them that when a new one comes out, it's just business as usual. Activision should have just waited until next year for CoD5. It may mean less money now, but in 5 years they'll know it was the right decision.

NOA sure has disdain for this franchise, don't they? Localizing the first game, then sitting on it for like two years before deciding "Nah, we can't release this, nobody buys RPGs!" (and while I can't say I blame them for not wanting to take the risk, you'd figure it might have been worth trying because if you look at Nintendo's NES release list, you'll find that they published ONE game for NES in 1991 and ONE game in 1992, which is kinda dumb if you ask me.) Saddling the second with one of the worst print ad campaigns in history, featuring scratch-and-sniff cards with the disgusting scents of garlic, pickles and all other kinds of disgusting crap while declaring Earthbound to be "The first game that stinks." And now this. They could've just ported it to DS. Any by "ported" I mean burn the ROM to a DS cart. Not worth the risk? Well, they published Magical Starsign. They published Trace Memory. Nobody bought those games, and if Nintendo hadn't released them over here, how much fanboy bitching would there be? None!

You're really taking this whole "casual gaming" thing pretty hard, aren't you, Andrew.

UUUUGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH

Also there is a superfluous comma in Marvin's sig quote.

Palin needs to stop with all this "small town is the REAL America" stuff. Because let's face it. When you live in Alaska, you're not American. You're Canadian. Don't front. Sorry Smues.

Check out my hot new Photoshop: Spread it around folks, we're gonna make this one a hit!

Expecting Axl in his cornrows and football jersey holding grocery bags in front of a tank?

Oh God, the way Abyss had his chest taped up, it looked like he was wearing a bra.

Don't make me out to look like a dumbass. If that tracklist was provided by the band itself or the record company, they wouldn't have spelled a song title wrong, would they? Maybe some website employee found a fake tracklist on the internet and posted it there. I know more about Guns N' Roses than Mik at Cornell does. Don't step.

That tracklist is very suspicious. It's all song titles we already know. "Rhiad" and "Bedouins" are spelled wrong. "The Blues" has been retitled "Street of Dreams"? I think someone is fucking with us.

You know, it's amazing how a site called "Funny or Die" has produced so much unfunny stuff.

McCain - Palin Tradition By Hank Williams Jr. The left wing liberal media have Always been a real close knit family But, most of the American People Don't believe em anyway ya see Stop and think it over Before you make your decision If they smell something They're gonna come down strong It's a McCain - Palin tradition Now this old Union's got problems That is plain to see The Democrats bankrupted Fannie Mae N Freddie Mac Just like 1, 2, 3 The bankers didn't want to make all those bad loans, But Bill Clinton said you got to Now they want a bail out, what I'm talking about Is a Democrat liberal who doo CHORUS John N Sarah tell ya Just what they think And they're not gonna blink They don't have terrorist friends To whom their careers are linked Yes, John is his own man And Sarah fixed Alaska's broken condition They're gonna go just fine We're headed for better times It's a McCain - Palin tradition I am very proud of our country's name But no society is perfect And we have had our stains If I'm down at the coffee shop and Somebody starts to give our flag friction We say please move on Cause we're standing strong That's an old John McCain tradition CHORUS John N Sarah tell ya Just what they think And they're not gonna blink And they're gonna fix this country Cause they're just like you N ole Hank Yes John is a maverick And Sarah fixed Alaska's broken condition They're gonna go just fine We're headed for better times It's a McCain - Palin tradition Some are bound to tell you I'm Preaching to the choir And that is very true And we are going even higher Like a mama bear in Idaho She'll protect your family's condition If you mess with her cubs She's gonna take off the gloves It's an American female tradition CHORUS They all want to know Sarah Why do you hunt John why do you fish How could she be so smart and savvy Such a 'hey good-lookin'' dish Yes John is his own man And Sarah fixed Alaska's bad condition They're going to get it right We're going to see the light It's a McCain - Palin tradition

Only if Axl is a complete fucking moron. And there was never any talk of releasing three simultaneous albums. The need for clean and unedited versions would account for two SKUs. But three? That's just wacky. I hope there's a special edition en espanol.

No, I haven't heard "Already Cast Their Vote." Who sings it?

Marvin's Questionable Truthness Blog has a HUGE UPDATE on his TINFOIL HAT CONSPIRACY ALERT! YOU WILL BE SHOCKED!!!..ok..you won't be, but see what craziness has him even more riled up then ever before...only on his infrequently updated blog!"

Like crowds, drugs, and love, alcohol can befuddle the most lucid mind. Alcohol turns the concrete wall of isolation into a paper screen which the actors can tear according to their fancy, for it arranges everything on the stage of an intimate theatre. A generous illusion, and thus still more deadly. In a gloomy bar where everyone is bored to death, a drunken young man breaks his glass, then picks up a bottle and smashes it against the wall. Nobody gets excited; the disappointed young man lets himself be thrown out. Yet everyone there could have done exactly the same thing. He alone made the thought concrete, crossing the first radioactive belt of isolation: interior isolation, the introverted separation between self and outside world. Nobody responded to a sign which he thought was explicit. He remained alone like the hooligan who burns down a church or kills a policeman, at one with himself but condemned to exile as long as other people remain exiled from their own existence. He has not escaped from the magnetic field of isolation; he is suspended in a zone of zero gravity. All the same, the indifference which greets him allows him to hear the sound of his own cry; even if this revelation tortures him, he knows that he will have to start again in another register, more loudly; with more coherence. People will be together only in a common wretchedness as long as each isolated being refuses to understand that a gesture of liberation, however weak and clumsy it may be, always bears an authentic communication, an adequate personal message. The repression which strikes down the libertarian rebel falls on everyone: everyone's blood flows with the blood of a murdered Durruti. Whenever freedom retreats one inch, there is a hundred-fold increase in the weight of the order of things. Excluded from authentic participation, men's actions stray into the fragile illusion of being together, or else into its opposite, the abrupt and total rejection of society. They swing from one to the other like a pendulum turning the hands on the clock-face of death. Love in its turn swells the illusion of unity. Most of the time it gets fucked up and miscarries. Its songs are crippled by fear of always returning to the same single note: whether there are two of us, or even ten, we will finish up alone as before. What drives us to despair is not the immensity of our own unsatisfied desires, but the moment when our newborn passion discovers its own emptiness. The insatiable desire to fall in love with so many pretty girls is born in anguish and the fear of loving: we are so afraid of never escaping from meetings with objects. The dawn when lovers leave each other's arms is the same dawn that breaks on the execution of revolutionaries without a revolution. Isolation a deux cannot confront the effect of general isolation. Pleasure is broken off prematurely and lovers find themselves naked in the world, their actions suddenly ridiculous and pointless. No love is possible in an unhappy world. The boat of love breaks up in the current of everyday life. Are you ready to smash the reefs of the old world before they wreck your desires? Lovers should love their pleasure with more consequence and more poetry. A story tells how Price Shekour captured a town and offered it to his favourite for a smile. Some of us have fallen in love with the pleasure of loving without reserve -- passionately enough to offer our love to the magnificent bed of a revolution. It was as if they were in a cage whose door was wide open without their being able to escape. Nothing outside the cage had any importance, because nothing else existed any more. They stayed in the cage, estranged from everything except the cage, without even a flicker of desire for anything outside the bars. it would have been abnormal -- impossible in fact -- to escape into something which had neither reality nor importance. Absolutely impossible. For inside this cage, in which they had been born and in which they would die, the only tolerable framework of experience was the Real, which was simply an irresistible instinct to act so that things should have importance. Only if things had some importance could one breathe, and suffer. it seemed that there was an understanding between them and the silent dead that it should be so, for the habit of acting so that things had some importance had become a human instinct, and one which was apparently eternal. Life was the important thing, and the Real was part of the instinct which gave life a little meaning. The instinct didn't try to imagine what might lie beyond the Real, because there was nothing beyond it. Nothing important. The door remained open and the cage became more and more painful in its Reality which was so important for countless reasons and in countless ways. We have never emerged from the times of the slavers. Malaise invades me as the crows around me grows. The compromises I have made with stupidity under the pressure of circumstances rush to meet me, swimming towards me in hallucinating waves of faceless heads. Edvard Munch's famous painting, The Cry, evokes for me something I feel ten times a day. A man carried along by a crowd, which only he can see, suddenly screams out in an attempt to break the spell, to call himself back to himself, to get back inside his own skin. The tacit acknowledgments, fixed smiles, lifeless words, listlessness and humiliation sprinkled in his path suddenly surge into him, driving him out of his desires and his dreams and exploding the illusion of 'being together'. People touch without meeting; isolation accumulates but is never realized; emptiness overcomes us as the density of the crowd grows. The crowd drags me out of myself and installs thousands of little sacrifices in my empty presence. "It would be a drag to die so young". wrote Jacques Vaché two years before his suicide. if desperation at the prospect of surviving does not unite with a new grasp of reality to transform the years to come, only two ways out are left for the isolated man: the pisspot of parties and pataphysico-religious sects, or immediate death with Umour. A sixteen-year-old murderer recently explained: "I did it because I was bored." Anyone who has felt the drive to self-destruction welling up inside him knows with what weary negligence he might one day happen to kill the organizers of his boredom. One day. If he was in the mood. After all, if an individual refuses both to adapt to the violence of the world, and to embrace the violence of the unadapted, what can he do? If he doesn't raise his will to achieve unity with the world and with himself to the level of coherent theory and practice, the vast silence of society's open spaces will raise around him the palace of solipsist madness. Oh man, I KNEW this guy was smarter than all of us! DAMN!