Over a cup of coffee last week, I said to my friend, "You know what the best thing is about writing for Suicide Girls?"
"I am obligated to deny that," I said, "but that's not the answer anyway."
"Oh. What is the best thing about writing for Suicide Girls?" He said.
"Well, it's --"
"It's really not the boobies? Because those goth girls are hot."
"Sorry. What is it?"
"It's that I get to --" I began.
"I mean, Zoli? Come on, dude. You have to at least admit that."
"I'm going to kick you in the nuts."
"Okay, Posh is pretty hot and she's a geek, too." I said.
"Totally!" He said.
"I mean, NO! Stop it! Let me make my point."
"This is pretty funny though. You can put it on your blog."
I thought about this.
"Yes. Yes I can. Do you know what else I'd like to put on my blog?"
He blinked at me and waited for me to continue.
"I WOULD LIKE TO PUT WHAT I FUCKING LIKE THE MOST ABOUT WRITING FOR THE FUCKING WEBSITE!"
"Sorry," he said to a single mom sitting with her five year-old on a nearby couch, "he's had a few."
"You know what? Screw you. I'm not going to tell you what I like the most about writing for Suicide Girls, and you'll just have to wait until next Wednesday to find out."
I sat back triumphantly and took a long drink from my cup.
After a few seconds he said, "It's the boobies, isn't it?"
"I hate you."
So. Would you, dear reader, like to know what the best thing is about writing for Suicide Girls? Uh-uh! Don't you dare say it. Just sit back and listen.
I get to do geeky things, like spend a day at a game con or watching Star Wars, or spend a week reading Absolute Sandman, and get I paid to write about it. I can justify doing things that I love, because it's part of my job. Isn't that the dream? To get paid to do what you love? To write things that you're proud of? (I really liked writing The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Geek.) I'm a very lucky guy, and in those moments (coming more and more frequently the last month or so) when I miss acting so much it hurts my soul, I need to remember that I am very luck that I can support my family and have a creative outlet at the same time. And I'm only 34, so hopefully I'm not quite dead yet.
Anyway, on to this week's Geek in Review. Remember when I wrote that I had Destroy All Humans! 2 sitting here, and I couldn't play it because I needed to work?
Ha. I win, Universe.
Destroy All Humans! 2 picks up a decade after Destroy All Humans! ended. Cryptosporidium-137 is gone, but his clone, Cryptosporidium-138 is alive and well, masquerading as the president of the United States, and wreaking havoc from within (Hrm. Maybe Dick Cheney is an alien. I'll have to look into that. It would explain a few things.) Everything is going beautifully, until the KGB shoots Cryto's mothership out of the sky and kills his commander, Orthopox-13 (who then spends the rest of the game as a floating holographic head.) The destruction of the mother ship, and Crypto's search for revenge is what we writers call the "inciting incident" or the "hook" to get the story moving, and get moving it does.The Newswire is Safe for Work today, so check it out, if you'd like to read my full review. I have to get back to, uh, work.
You'll begin in Bay City, which is suspiciously similar to San Francisco and swarming with those damn Hippes, before moving on to Albion, which is suspiciously similar to London, and also swarming with Hippies. From there, the story takes you to Takoshima (want to guess what that's suspiciously similar to and swarming with?) and points . . . beyond, as new and unexpected enemies arrive and give Crypto plenty of opportunities to make war, not love.
[. . .]
Good for Geeks Because: You're playing an alien and you can destroy buildings with your flying saucer. If that's not enough to get your slide rule, uh, sliding, there are enough pop culture references to get their own VH-1 special, and many of them are really geeky (Rocky Horror, Red vs. Blue, The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny.) With a little bit of work, you could even turn it into a drinking game. But remember, geeks: if you're drinking alone, you're not partying. You're an alcoholic.