Zapping Zombies at the Machine

Fellas and fellettes, I've seen the gates of heaven in all its majesty and not many people are in there these days.

In other words, I've been to the Dartmouth Mall recently and saw this ------>>>>

Was it possible? A childhood kingdom of yesterday's majestic Lincoln Mall arcade hast moveth away to behest the unfaithful proprietors in Land of Dartmouth? Where's the Duke of Dartmouth? We need to chat.

And, No! Saint Peter didn't have a roll of quarters. No! There wasn't a line. There wasn't anyone really. All the games, all for one.

Just like heaven, only no line and lots of judging.

All the eyes from the stuffed animals were watching me play Dance Dance Revolution, stumbling over my own feet to the highly energetic music. The 17-year old behind the counter was steering me down, ready to put the fake handcuffs on me for trespassing her adolescent haven.

Across the hall, at Asia Palace or whatever they called it, people dropped their chop sticks to watch a grown man shooting zombies.

I didn't care. I was reliving a childhood memory at an inflation rate of 50 cents per game, some a dollar.

Just as I was polishing off my zombie-killing pink handgun, a sudden glimpse of reality dawned on me. That while I was in there, all this economic hoopla, finger pointing and all, had subsided. In some small way, my reliving of childish memories of zapping rats at the 'cade had made my quasi-shitty economic state non-existent and meaningless; it made me feel like I was shooting the bad bankers and greedy CEO's that got us into this mess and could care less about what they've done.

Then, I got some penny candy with the tickets I made from skeeball and went to a meaningless high school basketball game.


Moment of the day when time stopped:
This was when I watched a stray cat in my driveway for around five minutes.

The junk draw in my brain:
1. The Coors Light life-size that previously welcomed me at the top of my stairs startles me now that the light is burned out. It's time for a breakup. It's nobody's fault.
2. Chicago's rampant time and key changes mixed with an uncompromising horn section are what makes me a fan.
3. The second step coming into my apartment looks like it'll collapse any minute, but the third one is vastly underrated. That thing is hanging by less than a nail. And, yes, I talk about my steps like athletes in the NBA draft.
4. Anyone over 60, or anyone with gray hair, wearing a backpack will undoubtedly make me think of Benjamin Button.
5. I like my coffee like I like my women... 1. ... by the pound. 2. ... under three dollars. 3. ... strung out on black tar herion.
6. I should go to a different GNC everyday and ask where they keep all the good stuff baseball players are using these days.
7. If a drink has a Caution! section, you probably shouldn't even bother trying it.