Skip to 3:10 for flying dolphins and floating bodies of water. I couldn’t make this shit up even if I worked for the SyFy Channel.
So after watching some speed runs of the original Ecco the Dolphin, I couldn’t help but notice the suggested videos eventually suggested watching some videos from the sequel to Ecco the Dolphin, Ecco the Dolphin: The Tides of Time. My first thought was: there was a fucking sequel?
I guess there’s really no surprise considering how many crappy games actually get sequels, but regardless, I decided to give it a whirl, to see just what the hell else could go forth with the Ecco storyline.
A few days ago, I was hanging out with some old friends of mine, and took part in their weekly podcast (Carolyn & Joe Show). Aside from talking at great length about Boy Meets World and its subsequent spin off Girl Meets World, eventually we briefly started talking about Ecco the Dolphin. And aside from me, none of my present company was actually remotely aware of what Ecco the Dolphin was actually about.
It occurred to me that the game was horrendously marketed when it came out for the Sega Genesis, and it really was no surprise that it seemed to be that not so many people had any idea of what the game was actually about. I remember the commercial have absolutely zero success at conveying what the plot of the game actually was, and simply made it look like it was a game about a dolphin, swimming around and doing dolphin things. Flipping out of the water, confrontations with sharks, and even encounters with killer whales! Awesome!
While at my parents’ house, I discovered that they had unearthed a lot of my old toys that still existed in the bowels of the basement, for my nephew to play with. As much as my three-year old nephew was disinterested in a bunch of action figures that he had no idea of whom they were, I was just as ecstatic to take a trip down memory lane of the things I once shelled out money to buy and actually play with when I was still a kid.
Among these figures were all my old WWF action figures, and today’s post is going to be dedicated to just one of those figures: The Million Dollar Man, Ted DiBiase (series 2).
Yeah, good luck there chief. I have to say, this article was a pretty great source of some inadvertent, ironic humor. And I feel like deconstructing a lot of the false truths published to hide the obvious ones.
The poll (that the AJC conducted) found the public’s biggest beef with MARTA was that it was inconvenient because it too often didn’t go to their destination and they didn’t need it because they had a car.
Despite the fact that this statement is true, I vehemently deny the claim that it was the public’s biggest beef. Although I unofficially and likely inappropriately speak on behalf of everyone, the biggest beef that people have with MARTA is the simple fact that it doesn’t feel clean or safe, on top of the fact that it rarely goes to anyone’s destination.
The last time I was on MARTA, there was a man and an elderly woman having a very animated argument, that escalated into the man repeatedly and publicly declaring that physical violence was on the horizon for her. Something about how she threw his cell phone away in a fit of rage from an earlier spat, and how he was going to whoop her ass when they got home. Naturally nobody did anything, including myself while this was going on, but one patron did inform a MARTA “officer” when they got off, prompting the arguing parties to escape amidst a crowd.
My friend and I were passing through Sterling when we saw the road jaws in the street. Zig-zagged lanes for a brief stretch in the road, before everything went back to normal. Naturally, this elicited a WTF reaction from me.
Was this the result of a drunk lane striper? Was it trying to scare drivers for some reason? All I knew is that it felt like the lanes were trying to eat us, and that we needed to get the fuck out of those lanes as soon as humanly possible.
In this photograph are 243 empty tall cups of Starbucks coffee. This has accumulated in about roughly a year’s worth of weekdays in which I went to work and had a coffee in the morning. This excludes any day in which I redeemed my frequent-buyer free drinks, in which I’d get the venti-sized of something way more expensive and potent than a single tall cup of drip coffee.
But the point is, 243 cups of coffee equates to roughly $432.54, and this is over the span of a year, give or take a month.
Recently, Starbucks released a limited edition steel Starbucks card, complete with laser etched artwork. It cost $450 to get one, which sounds worse than it is, because it comes pre-loaded with $400, which means that you’re essentially paying $50 for a steel card. I don’t often know what I ever want, but I felt a very strong compulsion to getting one of these steel cards.
I’ll be honest; the message in this commercial is a good one, and I will agree that the world could use some more positive messages. But the scenario used in the commercial couldn’t be any more further from any fathomable truth that could potentially happen in this little place we all live in, called the real fucking world. And for that reason, this commercial definitely warrants the designation as certainly being a stupid commercial.
It’s the championship game, and tensions are high. The protagonist, Alex’s team is down in the waning seconds, but a late score closes the gap to one. On the ensuing play, Alex’s team employs the full court press, and they successfully harass an opposing player into flinging a haphazard pass, which is supposedly touched by the guy that Alex was guarding. The referee awards the ball to Alex’s team, and his teammates and the crowd are going nuts because now they have a chance to win the game. Alex’s team calls timeout, so they can put together a play to try and win the game. And this is where the unbelievable fiction comes into play.
Alex becomes overwhelmed by his conscience, and he admits to having being the one who correctly tipped the ball out of bounds, and that the ref had made a mistake, clearly. As he fesses up to his teammates, his teammates give him the WTF treatment, and essentially tell him to shut the fuck up. The coach caves into Alex’s moral dilemma, and tells his team to prepare to play defense, and for Alex to go correct the ref. As the team disperses, the teammates all incredulously mock thank Alex for throwing the game, making Alex rightfully feel like a shithead. The coach, repressing his own feelings off being a dickface, shows pity on Alex and tells him that he did the right thing, making Alex feeling all warm and fuzzy, but still a shithead.
