The U.S. Supreme Court has decided to consider a California law that would make it illegal for retailers to sell violent videogames to minors.  Let’s take a look at some past court cases where the pixel met the gavel.

• Fantastic Steve vs. Super Mario

While most gamers are all too familiar with the Super Mario Bros., few remember the enigmatic Fantastic Steve Cousins.  Accompanied by his cousin, Ralph, Fantastic Steve led players on a magical journey through the Sausage Fiefdom.  When the Mario Bros. soared to fame a few years later, Fantastic Steve sued the plumber for stealing his act.  Unfortunately, Fantastic Steve was found dead before the trial began, leading to further speculation on Mario’s involvement with La Cosa Nostra.

• Drew Bauer vs. You Bunch Of Fucking Homos

In early 2008, Xbox Live gamer Drew Bauer made news when he attempted to sue an entire server of Call of Duty: Modern Warfare players.  Bauer claimed that his fellow gamers had ruined his experience by being “pussy actin’ campers” and apparently “sucking each others balls”.  The case was dismissed, but Bauer claimed he found restitution when he “fucked all ya’lls moms”.

• Activision vs. Gift Horse

Activision achieved record-breaking sales numbers with their incredibly popular series, Gift Horse.  So, it made perfect sense when the publisher took Gift Horse to court in order to destroy it.  During the trial, CEO Bobby Kotick looked the money-maker right in its mouth – and then stabbed it to death.  Allegedly, the horse is being reassembled elsewhere from its spare parts.

• Your Grampa vs. Those Goddamned Nazitendos

Sure, your grandfather was in World War II, so you try and have patience with him.  When he took Nintendo to small claims court – claiming the company was run by a zombie Hitler – well, that was just too far.  Remember how embarrassed you were when he stood in front of the judge and talked about the PokéHitler Youth?  He screamed about that all the way into the white mental hospital van.  It’s weird; all the kids are wearing Pokéwalkers now.  You know who else wore a Pokéwalker? Hitler.

• Schwarzenegger vs. Video Software Dealers

All mild-mannered, California governor Schwarzenegger wanted was a vacation. Instead, he discovered a nefarious scheme being plotted by the Video Software Dealers. After playing one of their violent videogames, Arnold realized that his entire life was a lie.  All this time, the videogame dealers knew of a secret, alien-crafted reactor that produced oxygen.  The bastards just wouldn’t turn it on.  Well, all that changed when Schwarzenegger took them to court – the court of ultimate, white knuckle action.  He laughed maniacally as he mowed down the evil Software Dealers in a hail of legislation and bullets.  Standing in a pool of blood, he knew that finally, the children would be safe from violence – consider it a divorce.

Further contribution by Hardcasual’s Matt Clark.

Bonjourno!  Come inside.  Let me take-a your coat.  Go ahead, take off-a your shoes and put them on the rack here.  Any friend of Luigi’s is a friend of mine.  Except for the ones he goes to those clubs with.  I don’t-a like those guys.

Not that I don’t like-a them because they’re a homos.  I like homos.  I mean, I have friends who are homos and I don’t-a care what they do as long as they don’t hit-a on me, you know what I mean? You… are… eh…?

So you like-a my one bedroom apartment?  It’s a little different from my usual accommodations, I know, but the princess and I are a-trying something out.  What-a you say?  Oh, you already- heard about her and I?  You must-a been reading those tabloids, you silly drybones.  You can’t-a believe everything you read, you know.

Let-a me set the record straight for you.  I hope-a you like Velveeta nacho cheese dip because I’m-a gonna heat some up for us.  It’s-a gonna be so good.

Those pictures with-a my friend Daisy?  So-a staged.  See, it’s-a going to be so funny when I-a explain it to you.  What-a were doing was we were playing a little game where she takes off her dress and walks on the deck of my friend Bowser’s airship while I touch-a myself beneath my swimsuit.  What-a you don’t see in those pictures is us a-laughing about how silly it all is and taking out a scorecard to keep tally.  We call it “Touchy My Spaghetti Monster” and she gets points for making me as firm as a Thwomps tooth.  Completamente innocente!

Oopsie doopsie.  The cheese needs a little more-a time in the microwave.  You want a Koopa Cola?  I have-a Diet and-a Caffeine Free.  Let me get-a you a glass.  Looks like everythings-a dirty.  I’ll just-a rinse something out from the sink.

That article from the Kingdom Reporter, the one that a-quotes me saying that I think the Koopas should give up trying to settle on the Sandy Star Coast?  That was taken out of context. I’m not anti-Koopist.  I was just-a saying that if they’d stop-a planting their turtle shells on land they haven’t had in… twenty-a years…

Ah, nuts!  I got a little cheese on my raccoon-skin robe.  I hope you don’t mind if I slip out of it…

Oh, this?  Yes, I see how-a you could be a little confused as to why I’m-a wearing my fireball outfit beneath my robe. ..

It’s ah… well it’s-a very comfortable for one.  And two, well-a…

(Sigh)

I’m-a so tired of lying.

This is a me, Mario.  I like-a to wear my fireball outfit all the time.  I don’t know when it-a started happening.  Maybe a couple years ago is-a when I started pocketing fire flowers and eating them at home.  My brother, he says it’s because I eat too many-a mushrooms and it warp my brain, but I don’t believe him.

The truth-a is, it-a make me-a feel so alive.  All I know is I can’t-a go back to feeling like-a I did before.  You see, this is the real-a me.  And I’m not ashamed-a.

It’s other people who can’t-a handle who I am.

The princess, she’s-a in another castle.  She moved out three months ago when she found out.  We didn’t want to make-a big deal about it so she left quietly to stay-a with Geno. I’m sure she-a likes him because he’s a little puppet.  I stayed in the palace for a few weeks but it was-a too depressing.  I felt like I was-a being followed around by a Boo, but it was just the ghost of our failed-a love.

Bowser, he don’t even-a return my calls.  It’s like I just-a dropped off the face of the planet.  He’s-a so judgmental for a single-father who rides around in a flying buggie with a clown face on it!

And Luigi, my own-a brother, he takes me aside and he says, “People aren’t-a ever going to understand, so don’t even bother.”  And for a second I believe him, but I don’t-a want to hide my secret-a no more.  You understand, don’t-a you?

Yahoooooo!  I knew you-a would.

Please, won’t-a you have a seat on my turtle shell chair and talk-a with me for a while?  And this Velveeta nacho cheese is warm and it’s-a so good!

“This Alternate Reality Game Is Just Fantastic Marketing,” by Chad Stone, Games Journalist

When I started receiving bizarre packages at the office, I was immediately hesitant.  Every time I turn around, some gaming PR firm is trying to gain media attention with viral videos and Alternate Reality Games.  After a month of this most recent ARG, however, I believe it is one of the most expertly crafted marketing campaigns ever.

The first package arrived in a plain, large envelope.  Inside, I found a simple letter adorned with type that appeared to be cut out of different magazines.  It plainly stated, “You’re gonna die, fucker.  I’ll cut your head off with a shovel.”  I didn’t want to get involved in some lame ARG, so I just threw the letter in the trash.

About a week later, I received another package.  This time, it contained a dead fish.  Nailed to the fish’s head was a note, which read, “Get ready to die you piece of shit.”  Our publication’s gift policy clearly forbids the acceptance of free food, so I dropped the large cod off at a local food bank.  Still, the game was beginning to intrigue me and I decided to perform some online research.  A sword, a fish, and decapitation – the official seal of Maryland features both a shovel and a fish!  What game publisher is in Maryland?

A couple weeks went by without another letter.  Then, the ARG increased in intensity.  During the course of only one workday, I received 355 phone calls to my cubicle from a man named “Earl”.  Initially, the man on the phone just kept repeating stuff about “removing [my] guts with a shovel” and listening to me “scream like a bitch” while my head was “chopped off”.  I really enjoyed telling him to bring it on – he seemed so genuinely angry!

Then, during the final phone call, Earl gave me the clue I needed.  “After I’ve murdered you,” he began, “I’ll fill your body with rocks and throw your corpse in the river.” That’s when it all finally came together.  Exactly 355 phone calls, just like Maryland Route 355, which runs through the city of Bethesda to Rockville!  Filling my body with rocks; Rockville, Maryland!  That’s it!  This ARG was being perpetuated by Bethesda Softworks.  How could I have been so blind?

I immediately called Earl back.  “I’ll meet you at the abandoned warehouse,” I told him, “I’m really looking forward to seeing Brink!”  Earl seemed confused.  I guess he didn’t count on the super perceptive detective powers of Chad Stone.

“I’m Going To Fuckin’ Murder Chad Stone,” by Earl “The Shovel” Crupp, Serial Killer

The moon is full once again.  It’s time to put on my mother’s panties and cleanse the city.  The Dark Lord requires blood, and ol’ Earl’s shovel is going to find it.

You think this is a game, maggots?  Everything’s a game to your generation.  Well, we’ll see who can play a game.  We’ll see who has the highest score in a little game I like to call Shovel In Your Fuckin’ Neck!

Usually, when someone receives one of my letters they get the message pretty clearly.  This kid Chad, though, he must be slightly retarded.  I sat in a building across the street, using a pair of binoculars to watch him open the first letter.  He had the audacity to laugh at my death threat!  That bastard just tossed it into the trash and went back to playing some game where he shoots foreigners.  I was so upset – I was barely able to make love to that cod that night.

It’s not that I have anything against game journalists – I think they’re wonderful people.  I just also happen to think Chad Stone’s head needs to be cut off with a shovel.  I’m sure we’ll have a riveting discussion about “games as art” before I fill his chest cavity with rocks and dump him in the river.

Well, it’s time to put on the clown makeup and head to the warehouse.  Next time, I’m going to send out checks and severed hands with my letters.  Let’s see game journalists laugh about that.

Further reporting by Hardcasual’s Matt Clark.

Fable and Fable II shook the foundation of what video games could be. The choices between good and bad, the bonds formed between family members, as well as man and “man’s best friend.” As lead game designer at Lionwhite Studios I have been in the fortunate position to craft gaming experiences unlike any other.

Now seeing that not every person has bought my games leads me to believe that some of you readers out there have listened too closely to fellow gamers and critics. Those who would like you to believe that the Fable franchise is “not all that great.” Well I have news for all the video game journalists. FABLE III WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE.

You do not even need to worry about reviewing the game since I will state right now that it is the best game you have ever played. In fact, just print out this article for your website so you may enjoy Fable III without having to stop to write down your opinions of it.

Fable was a game that broke the mold. Never had people experienced an RPG that let you choose who lived and who died, where to go, what to buy and how to build your character. Fable II expanded on this with a world 20 times larger than anything seen in video games past. You could live in the world with the intelligent AI whom you could have deep meaningful interactions with using a complex system of emotions. Want your son to respect you? Chastise him. Want to brighten your closest friends’ moods? Unleash at knarly fart in front of them. In franchise I have been able to create the two best video games ever released.

However, near the end of this year the gaming franchise will be turned on it’s head, as one game makes us throw out the old top 100 list for a new one, comprised solely of Fable III and it’s side games. Many have asked me “But how will you improve [on the already awe inspiring and in no way derivative] Fable II?” While others have asked “Why are you doing this to us? What did we do to deserve [the greatest games ever conceived by man]?” Well I will tell you now, because I love you.

Imagine that god kissed you on the lips and told you he did it all for you. That is the feeling you will get every time you boot up the system to play the game. With just about every facet of the game expanded upon it won’t feel like a linear hack and slash where you go from one screen to the next, spamming the same overpowered move until the credits role; no, instead you will be transported to a world much different than your own. It will feel as if you are actually living in this alternate dimension.

I promise you, you will never want to leave. With Natal you don’t even need a controller, just walk around and interact with people like you would in real life. You and your family will grow into future generations, where you will be able to unlock even more of the fresh unique storyline. Oh and did I mention you can now play as the dog?

I give Fable III 10 out of 5 stars in all areas, and the Pulitzer Prize and the key to every city and eight thumbs up and Game Of the Year, for the next five years.

By Hardcasual correspondent Zane Gould.

I guess you could call me a collector. Over the years, I’ve amassed a sizable stockpile of videogame memorabilia that ranges from retro Japanese cartridges to locks of John Romero’s hair.  So, whenever I pre-order a new game, I make sure to get the collector’s edition.  Sure, it costs a bit more, but my basement full of cheap, plastic trinkets and pointless metallic cases shows that I am a true videogame enthusiast.

When I heard about the Splinter Cell: Conviction special limited edition, I just knew I had to have it.  The metallic case, art book, and broken USB device alone were enough to make me reach for my super-rare Zelda wallet.  Then, I saw it – the Sam Fisher statuette.  Dear sweet Lord, I immediately knew how great this tiny stealth operative would look – covered in dust – sitting forgotten behind some Animal Crossing plushies.

So when I walked into GameStop that brisk, April day I didn’t yet realize the terrible mistake I was making. I realize it now, though – this Sam Fisher statue is haunted.

I know what you’re thinking, but I swear on my limited edition Diner Dash apron that this figurine is possessed by some sort of ancient demon.  The trouble began almost as soon as I arrived home with the statue.  I placed the effigy on the kitchen table while I poured through the other collectible contents.  After briefly glancing at the included art book, I placed it in a drawer with a bunch of other shit I’ll never look at again.  I turned back to the Fisher statue – it was gone!  I know I had placed it on the kitchen table, but after a quick look around the house, I found the figurine inside my wife’s underwear drawer.  How could this be?

I decided to blame the strange occurrence on my lack of sleep and left the statue sitting next to the television.  Late that night, I went downstairs to add the new Splinter Cell game to my library.  I don’t actually play the games anymore, but I really enjoy alphabetizing them on a large shelf.

I was placing the game next to an unopened copy of Space Quest IV when I heard a loud bang.  I raced upstairs, only to find my Solid Snake action figure lying on the ground with what appeared to be a tiny bullet hole in his head.  Terrified, I looked around in the dark room.  That’s when I saw three tiny green lights in the corner.  I backed away slowly before running upstairs.

Obviously, at this point, I was scared.  The next morning, the statue had returned to its place next to the television – something was clearly wrong with this situation.  I decided that keeping the collectible wasn’t worth my sanity and resolved to get rid of it.  I hated to throw the valuable character-shaped paperweight in the trashcan, but the whole situation had left me feeling uneasy.  The next morning, I watched as a garbage man crushed my trash in the back of a dump truck.  When I turned back to my breakfast, I spit coffee all over my Cooking Mama placemats.

There, standing next to my plate, was a miniature Sam Fisher.  What’s worse, my scrambled eggs had been devoured.

Although I was terrified, my anger took over – no one eats my eggs.  I bashed the statue to pieces with a hammer, lit the remains on fire, and swept the ashes into a box.  I then placed that box into a locked steamer trunk, wrapped a spool of barbed wire around the trunk, and placed the entire package inside an industrial safe with a forgotten combination.  After loading the safe into the back of a semi-truck, I drove to a nearby bridge and released the trailer into the river. As the trailer slowly sank to the bottom, I laughed maniacally, knowing the nightmare was finally over.  My joy ended abruptly, however, when I looked at the passenger seat next to me.

There, in stunning condition, was that goddamned Sam Fisher statue.

I don’t know what to do.  I’ve tried everything imaginable; mailing the statue to China, selling it to kids on Ebay, even praying to the spirit of Michael Ironside.  Every time, the statue ends up back in my house.  It stands on the nightstand and watches us while we sleep.  Last night, I think it laughed while we had sex.

We’re so scared.  Please help.

Further reporting by Hardcasual’s Matt Clark.

Barkeep, I’ll take a gimlet of whatever those knights are drinking. Yeah, I’m old enough. I know I may look young, but I spent a few months “of age” a couple years back. I’m sure you’ve heard the stories. Magical ocarina? You know who I am, right?

No. It’s not Zelda… It’s Link.

It’s okay. This happens all the time.  People hear “The Legend of Zelda” and they automatically assume that I’m Zelda. I’m not angry at you. It’s not your fault. It’s the rotten drunk who told my story and named it so poorly that I’m angry at.

Plus, it’s been going on so long that I’ve become accustomed to it. I don’t even correct people anymore. I just say, “Yeah. I’m Zelda. I’ll sign your leather satchel. I’ll have an artist draw a portrait of us together for a couple rupees.”

Case in point: just this morning I was buying some bombs at the store, and as I’m checking out, the owner gives me this big smile and says, “Here you go, Mr. Zelda” and hands me my bag. What do I do? I don’t say anything, because what good is correcting the guy going to do? It’s not like he’s going to hop on his horse and ride around Hyrule, telling people that the name of the guy who saved his ass from Ganon twenty times is Link.

In fact, I’d bet fifty rupies against it. These shopkeeps, they don’t get out a whole lot. Most of them don’t even own horses. And that’s most of the problem right there.

These people, these locals, they don’t worry about anything but what’s happening in their little neck of the woods. Whenever Epona and I roll in, it’s always like, “I’m so glad you’re here, our underwater city has been frozen!” or “There ‘s a band of thieves in the mountain pass that’s making it hard to get mail!” or “All our chickens got out of the pen!” I mean, give me a break. Open a scroll, people.

Princess Zelda was born over a decade ago. Did they really not know her name? Of course they didn’t. I mean, for crying out loud, she’s just one third of the tri-force.

The tri-force? The tri-force is… you know what? Nevermind. You know what, barkeep, I’ll take another one of these. You only live once, right? And buy a couple for those guards in the corner. Tell them they’re from Link. L-I-N-K.

You’re right, I guess it’s not the worst thing in the world, really. I mean, I didn’t save Hyrule for the credit, did I? Sure… it’s good enough for me that people know that every hundred years or so a guy wearing all green saves the world from an evil wizard-pig. That’s about as specific as I can hope for you people to remember.

Still, it’d be nice if the awards I have hung up in my palace bedroom had my name on it, not my girlfriend’s. And it’d be nice if the kids that follow me around whenever I ride though were shouting my real name.

I’m pretty much over it, but if I ever run into the old wandering soothsayer who coined “The Legend of Zelda”, despite the fact that Princess Zelda did very little legwork in the struggle, I’m probably going to tie my hookshot to him and leave him hanging from the rafters of the Temple of Time. I’m sorry, but I’m only elvan.

That’s enough for me, thanks. Just put it on my tab. It’s… uh… under Princess Zelda.

But what ho!  A light, a ledge!  What item allegedly waits my misstep?  For below me I see- larger to my eye than the snoozing dragon- a glowing ball of light.  How low must I stoop?  How far indeed is this drop?  Certainly I’m not high enough that a fall this small will end me.  If only I kept my bodily form, then surely I could survive!  If only the Monumentals granted me just one more line of cryptic advice, I might know how to complete this task.

Oh, what misdeeds doth I do to be placed in such a predicament? Between certain death and certainer sustenance?  What will I do without that small ember of hope that holds – what? A thousand wailing souls?  A new piece of armor?  Or a blade I already wield- NO!  I  musn’t think such thoughts.  The short drop holds the spice of my salvation!  A half moon, a full one, not to my liking, but that sweet Renown Soldier.  That’s what’s waiting there for me to take if I have but the strength to gain it!

Anon, I will dive, dove-like, floating to a safe solitude, away from worry.  Safely, I go- But, what’s this?  A stain of blood, and a message there w’ it.

Surely, the writ must hold the answer.  And thus I read: “If you jump from here…”

…

…Hmmm…

I read again, seeking the advice of my brethren who’ve come before me.  Thusly: “If you jump from here…”

…

…well…

Success!  Surely the writer who wrote this note meant it to breathe confidence in its reader!  Surely he does not share the same fate as whomever left this stain of blood.  And he cannot share the fate of the very soldier who’s body rests at the bottom of this cliff.

Yet- though my liver be anything but lilied, and my eager spirit tells me to boldly press on- my mind, that great second guesser, must touch that bloodstain. HAH!  Probably some archer attempting to win glory by slaying the sleeping dragon!  What a pitiful end he has met…I touch the bloodstain.

He appears.  Looks to the dragon- HA! – then slowly steps toward the ledge….One step.  Another…leaps….falls….

Maybe I should take that mild narrow path, and- NO!  I must know what item waits beneath.

I touch the stain again.

Looks to the dragon…edges…falls to his death-

Ha!  So it seems!  All too quickly his spirit falls.  Do we not usually see these souls have a slower death?  I wager we see here a man who died after his downfall!  That is, he fell, then fell prey to some beast or other, awaiting men to drop down weakly.  Not I!  Silver Catalyst in hand I drop down to smite thee, demons!  Off I go…

And…closer now…nearly at the edge…touch the bloodstain once more just to make sure I don’t fall the same way as…and….

That coward!  I see his mistake!  He jumped too far.  I would never be so silly as to…Ho!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHH

Aw, yeah.  It’s Saturday night in the big city.  The worries of the workweek seem to fade into the haze that hangs low over the skyline of Lost Wages.  Well, it’s not Lost Wages – but from this view, Florence, Indiana looks a Hell of a lot like that seedy town.  It’s time to slip on my white leisure suit and find some action.

“No, Mother,” I yell from the basement, “No! I’ll be home when I get home.  I’m 40 years old for Christ’s sake!”

She doesn’t understand the pressure I’m under.  After a long day of computer programming, I usually unwind with some of my favorite gaming classics.  Mother thinks it’s odd that I spend my free time playing computer games in her basement.  She doesn’t understand the educational benefits that Sierra adventure games provide.  I’ve gained my sense of humor from Space Quest; my sense of chivalry from King’s Quest; and all of my carnal knowledge from Leisure Suit Larry in the Land of the Lounge Lizards.

Now, it’s finally time to put that knowledge to the test.  Don’t fail me now, Al Lowe.

Stepping into the taxi cab, I vow to hold my breath until I reach my destination.  Strangely, the cabbie is not smoking a cigar and refuses to call me “Mac”.  “Take me to Lefty’s bar,” I tell the driver.  “I’ve never heard of that place,” he responds.  How can there not be a Lefty’s bar anywhere in Florence?  I suppose Hank’s Nascar Drinkway will have to suffice.

As the cab pulls away, I make sure to steer clear of the alley beside the bar.  Everyone knows that alleyways are only occupied by mohawk-wearing thugs.  Entering the watering hole, I immediately approach the bar.  I can’t seem to find the moose head on the wall, but there is a door underneath a Dale Earnhardt, Jr. neon sign which clearly leads to a prostitute.  Though the door is labeled “EMPLOYEES ONLY”, I know this is only a deterrent to the uninitiated.

Rapping on the swinging door, I yell to the portly man staring at me through the door’s window, “Ken sent me!”

“What?” he responds.

“Ken sent me!” I repeat.

“Uh,” the man stammers, “Did you order the jalapeno poppers?”

What is this doorman’s problem?  I’ve come here to meet a prostitute.  I made sure to bring a remote control to distract the pimp, and this idiot will not stop me from losing my virginity under a pulsating, black censorship box.  After pushing past the bodyguard, I enter the back room of the bar.

There she is, in all her glory.  Sure, she’s not lying in a bed and instead of chomping on a wad of gum she’s defrosting a freezer chest….but my God….she’s beautiful.  She looks at me with complete confusion and I know what she’s thinking.  “It’s alright,” I tell her, “I’ve been training for this moment since 1987.”

I rip my clothes off in one swift movement.  I don’t remember the prostitute screaming in the game, but I just assume that she’s startled by the gold medallion glistening in my chest hair.  Just before the censorship box can appear, I come to a horrifying realization –

I have forgotten my spearmint-flavored, striped, rough-cut, ribbed lubber!

Oh, no.  I can’t go forward with this.  My hormones are raging, but the last thing I want is to walk outside and have my dong explode.

I run for the nearest window and leap to the awaiting dumpster.  Sure, my clothes smell, but at least I’m safe……oh, no.  I’m in the alley.

The thugs jab me with their knives.  Sure, it hurts, but everything is going to be OK.  I know that once these gentlemen are done gouging my innards with their blades, I’ll fall under the ground, into a blender, and be returned to my normal, sexy self.

I’m going to the casino next.

Further reporting by Hardcasual’s Matt Clark.

Recounting my story so far, I feel a large chunk of my memory is missing.  Ever since Professor Layton brought me those roses, and our train went into a dark tunnel, I can’t seem to recall even the simplest of puzzles without the headaches starting again.  It’s almost as if…no…wait.

Let’s say, hypothetically, that a small boy were tied up in ropes (as a game of course!), and there were several “guards” in black leather (labeled A, B, C, and Dikembe) surrounding the boy with rods.  How many times could the guards “tickle” the boy, before he started sobbing (from too much excitement!).  Keep in mind that the number of tickles is equal to the age difference between my- the boy’s!- age and the oldest guard, who was 55, and half-brothers with another guard but they never lived in the same house and…oh.  Oh my god, I think I just figured something out…

If I take the length of time since I last saw my real family and add that to the number of years Professor Layton started calling me “apprentice” instead of “monkey slave,” how long will it take before I stop crying?  Assume that the number is greater than the number of times Professor Layton told me ‘A true gentlemen does not kiss and tell.’  I- I think I just realized something BIG!

It all started when Professor Layton told me to add something “spicy” to his tea, but when I went through every possible combination of ingredients, he said ‘perhaps it’s time you consider a solution outside the box.’  I could tell he was hinting at something, but what?

He said if I kept this “whole thing” a secret, he’d give me 1,000 Picarats a week.  So I saved and saved, only to find that there’s no place to spend them!  DO PICARATS MEAN ANYTHING?!  When I finally confronted him about everything that had happened between us, he told me all the events I was describing happened in the mystical town of Folsense, thus all of it occurred in my own mind.  But then- it happened again!  He gave me a simple 20 Picarat puzzle where an obviously phallic key that was stuck between two rocks.  Professor!  How could you?!

If I take apart the camera, then put it back together, then take it apart, then put it back together again and take pictures, the discrepancies in the pictures from before this mystery began to now reveal something clear as day: my eyes are dead in the latter.  This must be the reason I compulsively touch everything in a room in search of hint coins: Professor Layton touched me.  This is one puzzle’s conclusion I will not point and smile at.

Let me take a second look, now that I’ve unlocked the proper hints…

If there are 8 pieces of my heart, and each piece is worth an inkling of my dignity, how long will it take before I can trust again?  Assuming that I only smile every other day, and never on the Lord’s Day, how many times per week will Professor Layton assume that I’m merely looking up to him as a detective, rather than plotting my bloody revenge on the old coot?  Assume that I will cut his body into pieces of equal weight and feed them to my hamster who will achieve a record of 64 steps.

Further reporting by Hardcasual’s Dan Wilbur.

It’s been two days since Jake’s plane from sunny SFO landed in flat OKC, but his friends think the real Jake is still somewhere hiding deep within the halls of the San Francisco Moscone Center. This new Jake is new. He’s lively. He’s cocksure.

Like a man after having sex or bowling a turkey, Jake struts with unearthly buoyancy.  Nothing can put him down, it seems, not even gravity.  Even the piercing buzz of his alarm clock this morning trickles around him like a burst of harmonic stardust.

Jake steps out from the shower, runs a comb through his bleached-tip locks and pulls a pressed Super Meat Boy shirt around his shoulders. Mmm, the bathroom’s steam mixes with Old Spice spray and tastes fresh. He winks at his reflection. Then winks again because it’s fun. Did he lose weight?

Over a bowl of cereal, Jake reads the notes he took from his favorite panels for what must bean unknownth time. Out the window lies his humble spice garden and Jake wonders to himself, “What is Jason Rohrer doing right now?” then takes a deep bite into a ripe apple.

On the corner of Main and 3rd, he rolls down the windows and waves at that pack of teenage girls perched daily on the cherry red benches outside the Sonic Drive-Thru. A handful of bars from the chip tunes album, pounding from his tweeters, spills out the window and the girls bob their heads and open their mouths wide with big o-shaped smiles.

And in this moment, Jake Rosengold feels welcome and pure and like everyone else must feel on the first day of spring.

“What’s that around your chest,” asks the most stunning girl, lifting her lips from a bendy-straw and popping that ‘est’ like bubble gum.

Jake feels for whatever it is blindly and grabs hold to the emblem, lifting it up. “Oh this, it’s a badge from… it’s from a video game conference.”

She looks him up and down, “Was it GDC?”