It’s been a few years since I’ve really paid much attention to gaming consoles. Since I own one again I’m trying to pay at least moderate attention to the various gaming sites so I know what’s coming out and when, how to spool content from my computers to it, etc. One thing I’ve (blissfully) forgotten in the interval is how obnoxiously stupid console fanboys are. Every time I follow a link to an article about a title or accessory or feature I’m interested in, I make the mistake of reading past the end of the article and I see the comments posted by the various mental giants who’ve invested their entire self worth on which small television-attached beeping box sells the most units. It’s almost as bad as adults who hold a grudge against other cities because the hired-gun millionaires that run around in the stadiums and arenas in their town won or lost versus the hired-gun millionaires that run around in someone else’s.
My central memory of that time seems to hang on one or five or maybe forty
nights — or very early mornings — when I left the Fillmore half-crazy and,
instead of going home, aimed the big 650 Lightning across the Bay Bridge at
a hundred miles an hour … booming through the Treasure Island tunnel at
the lights of Oakland and Berkeley and Richmond, not quite sure which
turnoff to take when I got to the other end … but being absolutely certain
that no matter which way I went I would come to a place where people were
just as high and wild as I was: no doubt at all about that.
— Hunter S. Thompson