Saturday, September 30, 2006
"My X-Box 360 loves your tits. That is the only explanation I have for
why you're kicking my ass right now", Mr. Scoop exclaimed as he threw
his controller to the floor. "I need a cigarette."
We are in the process of finishing the front nine holes of the Pebble Beach section of Tiger WoodsPGA Tour '06 for X-Box 360.
I kicked his ass by getting two eagles on the front nine. He eventually eagled himself, which was good, you know, for me. Mr. Scoop felt less stabby then. What Mr. Scoop doesn't really realize is that video golf is like pool for me. When I'm drunk I do really stupid things. I'll fire off some shot that looks like it should go immediately into the brink. Or into a sand trap. Or a tree. Whatever. My ball finds its way into the hole like a frat boy looking for poon. The point is: I'm drunk and it looked like a good idea at the time. Mr. Officer. Sir.
The X-Box 360 controllers aren't being very helpful tonight. The battery packs aren't holding charges for some reason. The green lights go all spin-y around the silver "on" button on the controllers. The controllers, seemingly arbitrarily, decide that they are no longer connected. All the hardware is suspect, tonight, as far as Mr. Scoop is concerned. A poor connection is the difference between him winning and me telling him he needs to do a shot for every hole he ends up behind my ass. Clearly it's a tense situation.
So he's solving our tie by accepting a game invite from a third party.
Clearly, he fears me. As he should.
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