When the 2old crew went to E3 this year I was on the frontline of people bitching and complaining about the lack of adequate onsite reportage. There were accusations of swindled funds, mismanaged time and even blatant homosexuality due to the lack of booth babe coverage. For the Chicago LAN Party the tables were turned, I was on the inside and the truth was revealed to me. Why worry about the losers that weren’t there when so many cool people were?
Before you get your panties in a bunch here is your obligatory smile ->
Quite a few guys made sure that they weren’t going to miss the show by coming several weeks early. Fade into Black was almost declared doodirock’s and Ebola’s common-law wife he reported so early for the event. Thursday night saw me still unpacked for my departure from Newark Friday afternoon. Since I had all the minor things (clothes, toothpaste, deodorant) already packed I decided to take some time and get a little pre-LAN Halo in before I ventured to Chicago. Signing into Live was like wandering into a ghost town at 8:00 PM. With not a 2old2play clan member in sight, I found a few Wheezin’Geezers willing to help me get some last minute warm-ups. And then at 12:00, as I was getting ready to call it a night and finish the packing, a hurricane blew into my friend’s lists and the insistent pleas of Knaabi started to flood the Box. I let him in and he brought a howling mob with him that apparently had been left locked inside the sumptuous bachelor digs of doodi and Ebola with no food since their arrival in Chitown. Doodi had 900 people signed onto his specially modded Xbox. They were playing on the 600 inch Jumbotronic Vistavision and had snorted so much cocaine off of dead hookers’ asses that fully fifty percent of the room met diagnostic criteria for irreversible mental instability. At 3:30 AM I crawled into bed with the certain knowledge that I was not going to make it back from Chicago alive.
One quick word about Chicago before I move on to the good stuff…They got a really big lake right next door to them. Somebody should let you know about that before you take off. Granted, my geography is not what it once was, but I thought we had missed a turn somewhere and were flying over the Pacific. I mean that lake is BIG.
The plane landed and I proceeded quickly through a demilitarized zone to the hotel. Don’t worry, there was plenty of barbed wire, landmines and sentries to keep the locals out of our sheltered enclave, but the constant attempts to breach the perimeter would be an underlying theme of the weekend.
Knaabi had been dispatched by doodi to do some advance work on the security at the hotel. Once he had patted me down and given me the code of conduct for doodi’s arrival he turned out to be a really great guy. What you need to know about Knaabi is that he is one snappy dresser. I know for a fact that he owns one pair of shorts. After three days in Chicago that is the only thing I am certain about as far as his wardrobe is concerned. He gave me a quick rundown of whom else was in town while he knelt on the neck of a suspicious looking Pilipino woman. We exchanged numbers and he let me know that after I unpacked he would be sending folks to my room to be sure that “I was comfortable.”
Room 101 had been conveniently placed as far away from the conference room where the LAN was being held as was geometrically possible. I confirmed this from public records after I returned. There was some concern about mail delivery since my zip code was actually different from the other residents of the hotel, but given the expected debauchery, I counted this as a bonus rather than a detriment. A little walking was infinitely preferable to easy access by a pack of crazed geeks to the place where I would be sleeping for the next two nights.
After unpacking I discovered the only fatal flaw to the arrangements at the hotel. They have a nearly Soviet level paranoia when it comes to television security. Forget bolting the thing to the nightstand, this television had locks on its locks. Some of the more crafty members in attendance eventually wormed their way through the multi-layered security to get their XBoxes hooked up, but I only have an undergraduate degree from MIT(1) and one suitcase full of equipment, cables and adaptors, so the process eluded me. Defasum, who has been successfully infiltrating our nation for decades on behalf of the Mexican CIA counterpart CISEN, did get his to work, but he had to contact a local named “Señor Muerte” for special tools. “Señor Muerte” arrived at the hotel wearing a hood. Defasum explained that “Muerte” means “light sensitive” in Spanish, so that sort of explains a few things.
After giving up trying to get my Xbox connected I tried to unwind with some calisthenics before others arrived. While I was completing my first set of 500 pushups(2)an ominous knock sounded on the door.
Things happened this weekend. Funny things. Tragic things. Disgusting things. Things for which they are still working on adjectives. What you need to know is that first and foremost this weekend was about exploring our feminine sides. There was no participant, with the exception of Mike James, who spent less then one hour in a dress. If we could have found a dress to fit him Mike was willing, but now we have to add a new title to our Site Bastard- Site Yeti. I’m a respectable 6’ 1,”(3) Mike easily topped me by 14 inches. The other surprise was that apparently MJ has been using voice masking the entire time I have known him online. His actual voice is a marvelous dulcet contralto that wowed us continually throughout the weekend with his ability to break glass from across the room. MJ was apparently the person sent to make sure I was “comfortable.” I wasn’t.
Promising ominously to “see me later” Mike retired to the local homeless shelter he had found to conserve cash.
If Mike had made me uneasy the next visitor had me downright scared.
A lot was said this weekend about how “nice” and what “great guy” BCKinetic was. I won’t deny the superficial charm there, but I am telling you that when that door opened I saw the man’s eyes. I had my own reasons for being in Waco during the Spring of ’93. However when the ATF asked for some technical assistance with a dicey little problem with a guy named Khoresh, I gladly said yes. Due to my “unofficial involvement” I saw one of the last guys out of the compound before the NSA boys lit the candle. Those same eyes stared at me when I looked through the peephole of room 101 and into the face of BC. Nice guy? Maybe. All I am saying is let’s go back in another ten years and count the bodies.
Todd the Barber had come along, obviously in thrall to his satanic majesty BC, but I wouldn’t put him the same category of pure evil. I think, divested from his role of evil minion, and given the appropriate treatments, we could see Todd eventually walking among us again a free man. The thoughts and prayers of my family certainly go out to him. After several tense minutes of Todd and me attempting to avoid eye contact with BC, my phone rang and I was flooded with a sense of relief. Knaabi was on the line directing our efforts to the prodigious task of off loading a cargo van filled with televisions.
By this time several others had reported for duty and the hulking, ominous Ebola made quick work of directing our efforts. When asked whose televisions we were unloading Ebola gave an enigmatic smile and told us “mine now.” When asked where Site Admin doodi was and when we could expect to meet him we were told to “watch where you’re going with that thing fucktard!” and that doodi would “reveal himself unto us in the time of ripening.” It was pretty clear that no questions would be answered. With the tv’s hustled through the lobby of the hotel and into Conference Room A (hereafter referred to as “The Heart of The Beast, or THTB for short), Ebola visibly relaxed and became the magnanimous host. The entire Friday night crew made the perilous voyage across the parking lot to the local Tipsy McStagger’s™ to strap a feedbag on and await the coming of the powerful mind that had brought us here.
At Tipsy McStagger’s™ I found myself sandwiched between Tbox and another of doodi’s henchmen, Bliznot. It was extremely difficult to carry on a conversation with Bliz as he was continually being distracted by low flying aircraft, the big screen TV at the bar, passing ambulances, the neon in the window behind us, the silverware on the table, a scuffmark on his shoe and something “linty” he found in his pocket. He also ordered four rounds of appetizers while the rest of were deciding what to drink.
I have some funny stuff to say about Tbox too, but his wife is way hot so I won’t. I will go on the record now as saying that he would prove himself a merciless killer come gametime Saturday despite all evidence to the contrary on Friday night. Blame it on the beers. I will also take a moment to applaud the LAN party as an excellent place to poach other clan’s members from them (nyah nyah).
It is true that beers flowed and a few brave souls ventured to the top shelf of the bar as well, but the mood was subdued because we knew that a momentous thing would occur shortly. We were about to be faced with the driving force that had brought us together by alienating an entire website. Phone reports had been relayed in hushed tones and we knew that the mysterious doodirock was on his way. The gravity of the moment was not lost on me when I asked Ebola when “dood” would arrive and he playfully punched me in the neck and told me “it’s ‘doodi’- now shut your trap and eat your wings.”
Before doodi arrived two of the people vying for most arduous journey to the site arrived to fill in their end of the table. After 146 hours in the car together driving up through Mexico from Guatemala, Agonizing Gas, famous author of the Timmy stories, and a driving force behind everyone on the site (except for the nine berjillion people Mike James brought in), rolled into town with his faithful clone Umbee. Agonizing Gas regaled us with tales of his latest book signings while Umbee cut his steak up for him. The two would prove inseparable throughout the remainder of their time at the LAN Party.
Suddenly, Ebola, Bliz and Knaab vanished from their spots and a quiet hush fell across the table. The only thing that could be heard was Trihunter’s whispered murmur “strippers, strippers.” In truth though, that had been going on for hours and would not stop the entire weekend, we had all sort of tuned it out by this point.
Suddenly, a fanfare was sounded and doodirock was carried into the restaurant on Knaab and Bliz’ shoulders. Ebola (now carrying the trumpet) elbowed people out of the way as his eminence was brought to the table.
I am safely back in my home in New Jersey now. I believe that the local authorities can adequately protect me from the loose network of cheap thugs the “man” has surrounded himself with. The time has come for someone to finally stand up and admit the emperor has no clothes. If doodi is a day over 15 years old then I am 108.
The furtive glances around the table confirmed what everyone knew but nobody was going to talk about. We had all seen Knaabi striding through the hotel with a large pair of bolt-cutters talking about the “charlatans at the circus that think they can guess ages” and how “those sons of bitches won’t be counting past seven on their fingers anymore.” We had gotten the point. Doodi was whatever age doodi said he was. As long we kept our traps shut, nobody got hurt.
Man-child or not, what is true that doodi handled himself with the easy confidence of the Egyptian boy kings of old. Cool Arrow in particular appeared struck by his majesty. Defasum was visibly stunned when his heretofore faithful companion actually swore an oath of allegiance to doodi, swearing that he would never again be the pawn of an evil, clandestine empire intent on flooding the United States with cheap labor, excellent Mezcal and the best soap operas ever made. Cool Arrow also swore an oath to uphold the constitution of the United States which confused everyone including doodi. He had at that point not even been aware that such a document existed. Perhaps the most disconcerting reaction of all was from Bigeks. Up until this point the general consensus was that Eks lay somewhere on the continuum between “Cold Fish” and “Emotionally Crippled.” He had not said a word to anyone and there had been speculation that he was mute until the van with the tv’s had driven over his foot and he told us “that stings.” Despite the stoicism of the big man he wept when he caught his first glimpse of doodi and for the rest of the weekend the dedicated cadre that formed a human shield for doodi included at its front Bigeks.
Obeisance made and hungers sated, the 2old 2play crew was ready to return to the hotel. Doodi made us wait until after his brother, Sub T had come by and sniffed each of us. Superstitious or not, doodi has a firm belief that Sub T can “smell disloyalty” and while we submitted ourselves to the humiliating ritual, I question the methodology because I knew that in my own heart I carried only contempt(4) for the petty despot and yet I passed muster. This would be the last we saw of Sub T throughout the weekend.
We returned to the THTB and completed set-up on the first portion of the LAN under doodi’s watchful and hypercritical eye. Even King Drewsky, who to this point had avoided some of the random violence the rest of us had been exposed to, was subject to physical discipline when doodi pronounced him “too skinny to live.” Ebola and the clearly ensorcelled Bigeks held him down and force fed him remains whose provenance was questionable at best. Let it suffice to say that I never saw a ham that skinny, or a drumstick that big around, and we never saw Cool Arrow again. TMAN was so struck by the events of the night that he retired quickly to his room and returned with a crushed ice dispenser strapped to his back and began immediately pounding back "Bourbon Sno-Cones," as he loudly proclaimed that he would rather be blind than see the things he saw that night.
We had seen horrors. Our world’s had been shattered. Our belief’s had been tested. Friendships had been forged, tested and broken. But at the end of the day, the LAN was built. So we did what gamer’s do and have done since the dawn of time. Game On Dorks. The contest had begun.
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1) Bubba does in fact have a “junior associate’s degree” from an overseas “university” that when contacted by the editors agreed to confirm his attendance only after we promised not mention their name. This was not the only time that Bubba lied about himself during the course of the article, but the lies were so inextricably woven throughout the story that they will only be mentioned when they are particularly egregious.- Ed.
(2) There was some grunting from the room, but the fitness expert for Clan 2old2play com, Ebola, indicated that he would not advise Bubba to attempt more than 3 pushups without a defibrillator present. – Ed.
(3) 5’ 2”- max. – Ed.
(4) Bubba may claim contempt but was clearly trying to curry favor throughout the weekend. On at least one occasion he was witnessed washing doodi’s car while Bliz and Ebola sat in lawn chairs firing at the car with a Super Soaker full of Astro Glide. This went on for hours. – Ed.
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CLICK HERE FOR PART 2
CLICK HERE FOR MEDIA
Quite a few guys made sure that they weren’t going to miss the show by coming several weeks early. Fade into Black was almost declared doodirock’s and Ebola’s common-law wife he reported so early for the event. Thursday night saw me still unpacked for my departure from Newark Friday afternoon. Since I had all the minor things (clothes, toothpaste, deodorant) already packed I decided to take some time and get a little pre-LAN Halo in before I ventured to Chicago. Signing into Live was like wandering into a ghost town at 8:00 PM. With not a 2old2play clan member in sight, I found a few Wheezin’Geezers willing to help me get some last minute warm-ups. And then at 12:00, as I was getting ready to call it a night and finish the packing, a hurricane blew into my friend’s lists and the insistent pleas of Knaabi started to flood the Box. I let him in and he brought a howling mob with him that apparently had been left locked inside the sumptuous bachelor digs of doodi and Ebola with no food since their arrival in Chitown. Doodi had 900 people signed onto his specially modded Xbox. They were playing on the 600 inch Jumbotronic Vistavision and had snorted so much cocaine off of dead hookers’ asses that fully fifty percent of the room met diagnostic criteria for irreversible mental instability. At 3:30 AM I crawled into bed with the certain knowledge that I was not going to make it back from Chicago alive.
One quick word about Chicago before I move on to the good stuff…They got a really big lake right next door to them. Somebody should let you know about that before you take off. Granted, my geography is not what it once was, but I thought we had missed a turn somewhere and were flying over the Pacific. I mean that lake is BIG.
The plane landed and I proceeded quickly through a demilitarized zone to the hotel. Don’t worry, there was plenty of barbed wire, landmines and sentries to keep the locals out of our sheltered enclave, but the constant attempts to breach the perimeter would be an underlying theme of the weekend.
Knaabi had been dispatched by doodi to do some advance work on the security at the hotel. Once he had patted me down and given me the code of conduct for doodi’s arrival he turned out to be a really great guy. What you need to know about Knaabi is that he is one snappy dresser. I know for a fact that he owns one pair of shorts. After three days in Chicago that is the only thing I am certain about as far as his wardrobe is concerned. He gave me a quick rundown of whom else was in town while he knelt on the neck of a suspicious looking Pilipino woman. We exchanged numbers and he let me know that after I unpacked he would be sending folks to my room to be sure that “I was comfortable.”
Room 101 had been conveniently placed as far away from the conference room where the LAN was being held as was geometrically possible. I confirmed this from public records after I returned. There was some concern about mail delivery since my zip code was actually different from the other residents of the hotel, but given the expected debauchery, I counted this as a bonus rather than a detriment. A little walking was infinitely preferable to easy access by a pack of crazed geeks to the place where I would be sleeping for the next two nights.
After unpacking I discovered the only fatal flaw to the arrangements at the hotel. They have a nearly Soviet level paranoia when it comes to television security. Forget bolting the thing to the nightstand, this television had locks on its locks. Some of the more crafty members in attendance eventually wormed their way through the multi-layered security to get their XBoxes hooked up, but I only have an undergraduate degree from MIT(1) and one suitcase full of equipment, cables and adaptors, so the process eluded me. Defasum, who has been successfully infiltrating our nation for decades on behalf of the Mexican CIA counterpart CISEN, did get his to work, but he had to contact a local named “Señor Muerte” for special tools. “Señor Muerte” arrived at the hotel wearing a hood. Defasum explained that “Muerte” means “light sensitive” in Spanish, so that sort of explains a few things.
After giving up trying to get my Xbox connected I tried to unwind with some calisthenics before others arrived. While I was completing my first set of 500 pushups(2)an ominous knock sounded on the door.
Things happened this weekend. Funny things. Tragic things. Disgusting things. Things for which they are still working on adjectives. What you need to know is that first and foremost this weekend was about exploring our feminine sides. There was no participant, with the exception of Mike James, who spent less then one hour in a dress. If we could have found a dress to fit him Mike was willing, but now we have to add a new title to our Site Bastard- Site Yeti. I’m a respectable 6’ 1,”(3) Mike easily topped me by 14 inches. The other surprise was that apparently MJ has been using voice masking the entire time I have known him online. His actual voice is a marvelous dulcet contralto that wowed us continually throughout the weekend with his ability to break glass from across the room. MJ was apparently the person sent to make sure I was “comfortable.” I wasn’t.
Promising ominously to “see me later” Mike retired to the local homeless shelter he had found to conserve cash.
If Mike had made me uneasy the next visitor had me downright scared.
A lot was said this weekend about how “nice” and what “great guy” BCKinetic was. I won’t deny the superficial charm there, but I am telling you that when that door opened I saw the man’s eyes. I had my own reasons for being in Waco during the Spring of ’93. However when the ATF asked for some technical assistance with a dicey little problem with a guy named Khoresh, I gladly said yes. Due to my “unofficial involvement” I saw one of the last guys out of the compound before the NSA boys lit the candle. Those same eyes stared at me when I looked through the peephole of room 101 and into the face of BC. Nice guy? Maybe. All I am saying is let’s go back in another ten years and count the bodies.
Todd the Barber had come along, obviously in thrall to his satanic majesty BC, but I wouldn’t put him the same category of pure evil. I think, divested from his role of evil minion, and given the appropriate treatments, we could see Todd eventually walking among us again a free man. The thoughts and prayers of my family certainly go out to him. After several tense minutes of Todd and me attempting to avoid eye contact with BC, my phone rang and I was flooded with a sense of relief. Knaabi was on the line directing our efforts to the prodigious task of off loading a cargo van filled with televisions.
By this time several others had reported for duty and the hulking, ominous Ebola made quick work of directing our efforts. When asked whose televisions we were unloading Ebola gave an enigmatic smile and told us “mine now.” When asked where Site Admin doodi was and when we could expect to meet him we were told to “watch where you’re going with that thing fucktard!” and that doodi would “reveal himself unto us in the time of ripening.” It was pretty clear that no questions would be answered. With the tv’s hustled through the lobby of the hotel and into Conference Room A (hereafter referred to as “The Heart of The Beast, or THTB for short), Ebola visibly relaxed and became the magnanimous host. The entire Friday night crew made the perilous voyage across the parking lot to the local Tipsy McStagger’s™ to strap a feedbag on and await the coming of the powerful mind that had brought us here.
At Tipsy McStagger’s™ I found myself sandwiched between Tbox and another of doodi’s henchmen, Bliznot. It was extremely difficult to carry on a conversation with Bliz as he was continually being distracted by low flying aircraft, the big screen TV at the bar, passing ambulances, the neon in the window behind us, the silverware on the table, a scuffmark on his shoe and something “linty” he found in his pocket. He also ordered four rounds of appetizers while the rest of were deciding what to drink.
I have some funny stuff to say about Tbox too, but his wife is way hot so I won’t. I will go on the record now as saying that he would prove himself a merciless killer come gametime Saturday despite all evidence to the contrary on Friday night. Blame it on the beers. I will also take a moment to applaud the LAN party as an excellent place to poach other clan’s members from them (nyah nyah).
It is true that beers flowed and a few brave souls ventured to the top shelf of the bar as well, but the mood was subdued because we knew that a momentous thing would occur shortly. We were about to be faced with the driving force that had brought us together by alienating an entire website. Phone reports had been relayed in hushed tones and we knew that the mysterious doodirock was on his way. The gravity of the moment was not lost on me when I asked Ebola when “dood” would arrive and he playfully punched me in the neck and told me “it’s ‘doodi’- now shut your trap and eat your wings.”
Before doodi arrived two of the people vying for most arduous journey to the site arrived to fill in their end of the table. After 146 hours in the car together driving up through Mexico from Guatemala, Agonizing Gas, famous author of the Timmy stories, and a driving force behind everyone on the site (except for the nine berjillion people Mike James brought in), rolled into town with his faithful clone Umbee. Agonizing Gas regaled us with tales of his latest book signings while Umbee cut his steak up for him. The two would prove inseparable throughout the remainder of their time at the LAN Party.
Suddenly, Ebola, Bliz and Knaab vanished from their spots and a quiet hush fell across the table. The only thing that could be heard was Trihunter’s whispered murmur “strippers, strippers.” In truth though, that had been going on for hours and would not stop the entire weekend, we had all sort of tuned it out by this point.
Suddenly, a fanfare was sounded and doodirock was carried into the restaurant on Knaab and Bliz’ shoulders. Ebola (now carrying the trumpet) elbowed people out of the way as his eminence was brought to the table.
I am safely back in my home in New Jersey now. I believe that the local authorities can adequately protect me from the loose network of cheap thugs the “man” has surrounded himself with. The time has come for someone to finally stand up and admit the emperor has no clothes. If doodi is a day over 15 years old then I am 108.
The furtive glances around the table confirmed what everyone knew but nobody was going to talk about. We had all seen Knaabi striding through the hotel with a large pair of bolt-cutters talking about the “charlatans at the circus that think they can guess ages” and how “those sons of bitches won’t be counting past seven on their fingers anymore.” We had gotten the point. Doodi was whatever age doodi said he was. As long we kept our traps shut, nobody got hurt.
Man-child or not, what is true that doodi handled himself with the easy confidence of the Egyptian boy kings of old. Cool Arrow in particular appeared struck by his majesty. Defasum was visibly stunned when his heretofore faithful companion actually swore an oath of allegiance to doodi, swearing that he would never again be the pawn of an evil, clandestine empire intent on flooding the United States with cheap labor, excellent Mezcal and the best soap operas ever made. Cool Arrow also swore an oath to uphold the constitution of the United States which confused everyone including doodi. He had at that point not even been aware that such a document existed. Perhaps the most disconcerting reaction of all was from Bigeks. Up until this point the general consensus was that Eks lay somewhere on the continuum between “Cold Fish” and “Emotionally Crippled.” He had not said a word to anyone and there had been speculation that he was mute until the van with the tv’s had driven over his foot and he told us “that stings.” Despite the stoicism of the big man he wept when he caught his first glimpse of doodi and for the rest of the weekend the dedicated cadre that formed a human shield for doodi included at its front Bigeks.
Obeisance made and hungers sated, the 2old 2play crew was ready to return to the hotel. Doodi made us wait until after his brother, Sub T had come by and sniffed each of us. Superstitious or not, doodi has a firm belief that Sub T can “smell disloyalty” and while we submitted ourselves to the humiliating ritual, I question the methodology because I knew that in my own heart I carried only contempt(4) for the petty despot and yet I passed muster. This would be the last we saw of Sub T throughout the weekend.
We returned to the THTB and completed set-up on the first portion of the LAN under doodi’s watchful and hypercritical eye. Even King Drewsky, who to this point had avoided some of the random violence the rest of us had been exposed to, was subject to physical discipline when doodi pronounced him “too skinny to live.” Ebola and the clearly ensorcelled Bigeks held him down and force fed him remains whose provenance was questionable at best. Let it suffice to say that I never saw a ham that skinny, or a drumstick that big around, and we never saw Cool Arrow again. TMAN was so struck by the events of the night that he retired quickly to his room and returned with a crushed ice dispenser strapped to his back and began immediately pounding back "Bourbon Sno-Cones," as he loudly proclaimed that he would rather be blind than see the things he saw that night.
We had seen horrors. Our world’s had been shattered. Our belief’s had been tested. Friendships had been forged, tested and broken. But at the end of the day, the LAN was built. So we did what gamer’s do and have done since the dawn of time. Game On Dorks. The contest had begun.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
1) Bubba does in fact have a “junior associate’s degree” from an overseas “university” that when contacted by the editors agreed to confirm his attendance only after we promised not mention their name. This was not the only time that Bubba lied about himself during the course of the article, but the lies were so inextricably woven throughout the story that they will only be mentioned when they are particularly egregious.- Ed.
(2) There was some grunting from the room, but the fitness expert for Clan 2old2play com, Ebola, indicated that he would not advise Bubba to attempt more than 3 pushups without a defibrillator present. – Ed.
(3) 5’ 2”- max. – Ed.
(4) Bubba may claim contempt but was clearly trying to curry favor throughout the weekend. On at least one occasion he was witnessed washing doodi’s car while Bliz and Ebola sat in lawn chairs firing at the car with a Super Soaker full of Astro Glide. This went on for hours. – Ed.
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CLICK HERE FOR PART 2
CLICK HERE FOR MEDIA
