“Annnother rounds. And don’t make itsh all foam thithh time, you asssssssttthole.”

The bartender gives Eric Puligny a look up and down, considers tossing him out for the third time this week, but decides to take a little pity on the man. “Whatever you say, boss. Just don’t be drivin’ home from here, now.”

“Motherfucker, I’ll drive anywhere. I’ve got Garmin Geee-Peeee-Etttthhhhh on my iPhone. Fuckin’ triangulates me all the way home. Tri-anggg-youu-lates. You heard of that? I don’t need no front-facin’ camera to figure out how to get my ass back home.”

“How many times are you gonna name-drop that front-facing camera, Eric?”

“Until I find ssthome motherfucker dumb enough to drop their iPhone 4G right on my lap, so I can make mythelf 10 grand.”

He takes a long swig of his beer, then falls backwards off his barstool. When he lands on the floor, he quickly shouts, “I’m not drunk! I’m jussst lookin’ to see if anyone dropped their iPhone 4G down here! Looks like… Nope, nope, not yet. Barkeep, you wanna top this one off? Looks like stthomebody sthpilled a bit.”

Ever since Engadget and Gizmodo published the first details of the iPhone 4G this weekend, along with the caveat that they had “found the phone in a Silicon Valley bar,” most nights have been playing out like this for Eric. Not willing to let a scoop go unchased, he took the first flight out to Cupertino, where he booked himself a room at an airport Marriott, purchased an economy-sized bottle of aspirin, and began a pub crawl – in the name of serious electronics journalism.

So far, the luck hasn’t been on Eric’s side. His nights tend to start and end with him alone at the end of a bar, greedily eying everyone whose iPhone briefly sits on the bar, or is checked to settle an IMDB bet. Once, he thought he had a suspect cornered – a guy with a suspiciously customized iPhone case and an Apple T-shirt, who set his phone down briefly to play a round of darts. When the man returned to find Eric attempting to guess his passcode, Eric got his first black eye of this adventure in Silicon Valley.

Attempts by Hardcasual’s editors to dissuade Eric from his mission have so far been unsuccessful. When we told him what he was doing was, at the very least, immoral, and most likely highly illegal, he sent us back a terse email:

“How the fuck do you ever think you’re going to be the next Gizmodo if you don’t go around stealing phones? No wonder you guys can’t get a scoop to save your life – start thinking like Nick Denton. I’m gonna come back with a iPhone 4G in one hand, and maybe a wallet or two if I start running low on beer money, and you’ll thank me. You’ll thank me, dammit!”

At the time this article was published, he was sleeping off a hangover, but later today he planned on visiting the Apple campus, in the hopes of rifling through employees’ bags while they played frisbee on their lunch breaks.

Earlier this month, Nintendo made the rare move of pre-announcing the Nintendo 3DS, their new portable gaming console which promises “3D games without 3D glasses”. While the announcement surprised many for its unusual candor, even more surprising was the unintended side effect for millions of gamers above the age of 13 – a pounding migraine headache in anticipation of the eye strain to be suffered while playing the system.

The news, while rare in the industry, is hardly unique among Nintendo’s history. One gamer we talked to told us, “When I was 13, a friend from down the street had a Virtual Boy, the short-lived “3D” Nintendo Virtual Reality console. I played it for half an hour at his house, before I realized that my head felt like it was being pounded with hammers. A week later, I had to get prescription glasses, which I still wear to this day.”

One industry professional described the news as “like hearing I’d have to see Avatar again in the front row. I’m just imagining a sequestered review session of 3DS game – 12 hour days of staring into a tiny ‘3D’ screen, feeling my eyes slowly attempt to worm their way out of my head to avoid the suffering. I mean, I thought staring at a HDTV for hours a day was bad – just think what it’s going to be like to stare into a grainy screen while monsters “leap out at me”. I think I should become a dentist.”

Vision professionals have already begun warning parents about the side effects of using the system. “You know how your parents warned you not to sit too close to the TV, or you’d go blind?” said one doctor. “Well, if you actually play this thing, you’ll probably go blind. No kidding. Based on my inside reports.”

Theories about Nintendo’s motives for releasing such a dangerous console range from “attempt to destroy the vision of American children” to “if people are nearsighted, the Wii’s graphics will look better”. However, above all else, they appear to be latching onto the 3D trend that is sweeping the world. “Just think,” one Nintendo insider told us, “the rest of the industry is making Clash of the Titans. We’re making Clash of the Titans – the 3D Experience. All I can say is… Release the Kraken!”

It was one of those weekends for George Baker. Every time he pulled up Twitter – a slap in the face. When he went to meet his friends in Soho – a jarring reminder. When he watched Wednesday’s rerun of Modern Family – the cruelest insult of all. It seemed like the whole world was out to remind him – he was the one loser who didn’t have an iPad yet.

“I mean, I could pretend like I was waiting for the second generation. Or even just that I had a pre-order for a 3G one. But no one would believe me. I mean, look into these eyes. These are the eyes of an empty soul. These are the eyes of a man who knows that he is missing just one thing from his life – and he is unwilling to take those final steps to claim it,” Mr. Baker told us. “I mean, if I could limit myself to just the 16 GB model, then I could probably afford one. But I know I couldn’t stop there. I just know it.”

His “accidental” trip through Soho confirmed his worst fears – iPads were readily available and lines were at a bare minimum. If he just walked up the stairs and into the Apple Store, he could walk out with one in a matter of minutes – seconds, even. It would be so easy. He could take the rest of the afternoon to himself, playing buggy iPad games in glorious semi-HD, watching Netflix movies on the second-smallest screen in his house, typing emails on the awkward huge touchscreen keyboard – no, he could hold back. But… just playing with one for a while would be so nice…

He stares us dead in the eyes. “I can’t touch one. The second I do… it’s over. Like when my girlfriend bought an iPhone, and it took me three days before I paid my way out of my T-Mobile contract and switched to AT&T. The second one of those babies gets too close to me… I’ll do anything to have my own. Anything. Anything.”

Likewise, even the activities that usually granted him pleasure filled him with pain. A quick check of Twitter revealed LeVar Burton’s announcement that he’d “Been playin’ with the iPad for 3 hours straight… This thing is the shizznit!!!”, or his friends’ claims that “I’ll never use my iPhone or my laptop again – if anyone wants them, come over”. “God,” he told us, “If even Twitter can’t make me feel better about myself, what am I going to do?”

He celebrated this morning by marking off another day on the calendar that he managed to keep himself from throwing $700 away on another gadget he didn’t need. But as we checked in with him, he flatly told us, “I know that before long, I’m going to wake up with a hangover and a vague memory of ordering an iPad – an order I won’t be able to bring myself to cancel.”

Jack Perris, 23, wasted no time trying out the new features of his Nintendo DSi yesterday. The DSi, released with great fanfare and promotion, added downloadable games, larger screens, and two cameras to Nintendo’s already-popular Nintendo DS. Mr. Perris is believed to have examined the new game console, taken “unboxing” pictures for his Flickr friends, and then immediately used the DSi to photograph his penis.

When asked for comment, Perris said, “Listen, what else was I going to take a picture of? Look, I can put a mustache on it. Ha! My dong is French now!”

Nintendo PR did not have an immediate response, although their press release touts the DSi’s revolutionary two cameras, one on the inside and one on the outside, as being exciting new methods to engross players in their games.

When asked what his future plans were for his DSi, Perris expressed great excitement about the upcoming camera-enabled Wario Ware game. “I’m totally gonna play that… with my cock!”

Mr. Perris offered to show this reporter a rudimentary animation of his penis dancing with Luigi, but the reporter declined. A psychiatrist contacted for this story said that such behavior is common in boys ages 7-10, who are first exploring their sexuality, and Nintendo fans, whose psychological development is stunted around that age.

“It was raining.  Pouring, really.  The kind of rain that makes it look like a Blastoise is right outside your office window. The kind of day you don’t use a Geodude or an Onix.  The kind of day where the whole world is under a Jigglypuff’s spell. Maybe the Bulbas enjoy this.  Not me.

I rolled off my office couch (my bed for the last three days), and felt the overwhelming sensation that I’d become a fat Snorlax somwhere between December and now.  I looked at the empty Pokeballs around the room.  Some of them different colors: the ones that once tamed a stronger breed out there in the field.  The colors that denote an ambition I lost a long time ago.  Sure, I used to be just like you.  I hungered.  I yearned.  I wanted to be the very best.  Like no one ever was.  But somewhere along that grassy road I heard one to many people shout “!” and I just lost sight of the cause: to train them- Huh!  Even catch them at all.  Now, I just wait around sucking a lonely cigarette as the rain patters on my window.  It’s funny:  my name meaning the waste after a fire.  Maybe I didn’t give up at all.  Maybe my entire life I was just the end of a cigarette.  The butt of one big joke.

My lighter’s out.  If only I still had a Charmander around.  Maybe even a Scyther to cut the end of a cigar I’ve been saving for a special occasion.  Now is as good a time as any to- What’s that?

A knocking at the door.  Probably just the mail.  I’ll let him drop it through the slot.  They always deliver the mail don’t they?  Rain or shine.  As dependable as a Machop against most types.

This woman at the door had a level ten pair a legs, and the face to match.  I didn’t recognize her at first, but the R on her shirt told me the whole history.  We used to be enemies.  Looked like now we’d have to work together.

“Tell me, baby.  How’s the rocket business?”

“The Rocket was a racket the whole time”

“Really?  The Rocket’s a racket? Who could have seen that coming?”

“Not even a Kadabra and a Kirlia put together.  I know we’ve mistreated you in the past, but that was the past.  I need your help.  I’m down on my luck these days.”

“Mewtwo?”

“What?”

“A bad joke.”  I felt like a Magikarp.  I couldn’t even get her to crack a smile.  I was all washed up and covered in water.  And my joke had just flopped.

“Please, I need you more now than new trainer needs a Poke Center.”

“Well this should go swimmingly.  Just leave your card on my desk, and I’ll get right back to you.”

“You always were good at brushing me off.  I guess you have bigger adventures to worry about.”

“I’m done with all that.  Ever since Oak died, I haven’t been worth the ethers I’ve been huffing.  I’ll do your dirty work for you.  Unless your cat is still willing.”

“Just go to this address, and take the photos…For old time’s sake.”

She handed me a card, and closed my door as she walked out.  I took my camera from my desk drawer, and blew the dust off.  I hadn’t used this thing since Professor Oak sent me on that wild psyduck chase on the Zero-One.  I didn’t want too, but I was dying for a paycheck.  I haven’t felt good about a case since the whole world went Digi.  But this was gonna be an old school job, and I was just the guy to do it.  I already had a lead on a first-gen Pokemon.  It was time to take a quick look at my old friend Pikachu.

Further reporting by Dan Wilbur.

Reports surfaced this weekend of a long-rumored event in gaming – the first field usage of the Nintendo DSi camera. Almost a year after the DSi’s North American release, rumors had swirled throughout the gaming community that the day would soon come when the camera would actually be used. Hardcasual can exclusively report that those rumors are finally confirmed – the Nintendo DSi’s camera served a purpose at 11:21 PM this weekend, in a small party in St. Louis, Missouri.

Greg Thomas, 24, was at the party, and in an exclusive interview, shared the surprising details. “We were just hanging out in the backyard, drinking a few beers, playing a little poker, when all of a sudden, these two squirrels just started fuckin’ away out on this tree branch right by the house. We all went straight for our phones – we had to get a picture of this.”

But the picture was not to be – for the group quickly realized that many of their phones either had a flash, which would endanger startling the squirrels, both ruining the potential for further photos and possibly causing the dangerous situation of an “enraged horned-up squirrel”, as Greg put it in his statement. The remainder of the group had iPhones, which, as everyone knows, can’t take a picture for shit.

“So my man Mikey pulls out his fucking Game Boy, and he’s all like ‘I got this thing for Christmas, it’s got a camera, I think.’ And we’re all like, why do you have a Game Boy, why does it have a camera, what is going on here? And he’s not really sure of any of it, but he starts turning it on, and then he’s all taking pictures of these squirrels doing it and showing us how he can draw Mario noses on it and shit.”

A representative for Nintendo told us, “The Nintendo DSi’s camera serves many purposes – a way to show that we’ve slightly improved the product, a feature we can add to press releases, a theoretically useful piece of technology. We never thought that it could actually be used to take photographs, but it just goes to show the ingenuity and resourcefulness of Nintendo’s fans.”

Sources who saw the pictures have told us that they look like “a digital abortion” and “don’t look anything like how awesome those two squirrels doing it were”, and Mikey has returned his Nintendo DSi to a shelf, where it will wait until the next time he takes a cross-country flight.

Doodle Jump, on the other hand, is in my iPhone on my bed stand. How convenient, right?

Best possible outcome: I trudge all the way to the office and spend an hour in the bathroom — the small, single-person one up front — warming whatever I can fit of myself under that tiny tiny hand dryer.

Worst: I get hit by a snowplow and die. Actually, no, the worst possible scenario is I get hit by a snowplow, but don’t die. I fall into a comatose state. I wake up. It’s February – and it’s even colder! Furthermore, hospitals! Do you know how much those things cost? A small fortune.

Doodle Jump only cost me 99 cents!

Consider those reasons and some I haven’t said for the sake of our mutual sanity and I think we all can agree, the best possible choice for me is to stay home, fold myself into a comforter and play Doodle Jump. This is smart for three reasons: firstly Doodle Jump is really fun for me to play, secondly I won’t be murdered by a rogue plowman and thirdly my office’s electricity bill will be considerably cheaper without me taking refuge under the good bathroom’s hand dryer.

Oh, and fourthly, I won’t be holding up the good bathroom, so everyone else won’t be forced to choose between doing their business in the icky bathroom in the back with the toilet that smells like stale caramel corn or walking across the street to the bathroom at the ladies gym. Which is just humiliating to use, because the secretary stares at you when you walk in like some sort of transient caught between one ethereal plane and the next with nothing to do but let loose a massive shit. One she knows she’s totally going to clean up after, so she squints her eyes and snaps a mental picture of your face so she has something to hate.

It’s decided. I’m staying home. No cold. No hand dryer. No judgmental secretary. Just me, Doodle Jump and this busted heater…fuck.

The Returners have infiltrated Kefka’s tower. The stone statue remains of the Warring Triad have finally been destroyed. A myriad of terrible beasties have been slain in the name of good. Everything that has happened before has led up to this point. The big moment. The climax.

The Returners must be triumphant here today. Kefka must be vanquished or the world will lie in ruins forevermore.

The Returners climb to the top of the tower and are treated to a grotesque sight. The mad court jester looks nothing like his former self. He has become the source of all magic: which, apparently, is a mess of muscle mass and Gothic imagery.

“I will destroy everything!” he shouts. His thundering voice is a far cry from the maniacal cackle he once had. “I will create a monument to non-existence! Destroy! Destroy! Destroy!”

The Returners gather in a tight clump. They brace themselves for the villain’s first round of attacks. They’re a peculiar mix, these Returners; a wide range of ages, a wide range of species, a wide range of distinctive fighting styles. It’s a funny story how they all came together, actually.

But there’s no time for that. Kefka summons a meteor storm down on the party. The giant burning rocks deflect off the Returners’ skin like tiny pieces of hail. Sabin counters by punching Kefka’s face off.

“What the…what the hell was that?” Kefka asks. He expands to twice his size. He’s looking less and less like a human being and more like a bad Renaissance painting of Purgatory. “That really…man! I will destroy you!”

The Returners cheer. “I’m so glad we spent thirty hours slaughtering dinosaurs in that forest!” Celes shouts. “That was a super idea, Shadow.”

The ninja nods. He takes out a throwing star and tosses it at Kefka’s neck. It rips through him like a knife in hot butter. Black ooze pours out.

“What the hell was that? One throwing star did that?”

Kefka transforms again. The incredible power of the espers mutates him into a six-winged angel, floating high in a brilliant amber cloud. A purple robe is all that keeps him decent. He’s really going to fuck them up now.

Before he can crush the Returners with his Omega attack, a hairy white beast scampers across the sky and rips his leg off. It holds its trophy high above its head and roars. “Good job, Umaro!” Relm yells.

Kefka looks distraught. “Where the hell did you find a Yeti?” he asks.

“In a cave, bitch!”

The Returners descend on Kefka like a pack of wolves. They pummel him mercilessly. They use magic that hits for maximum damage. They heal themselves for twice their maximum life for no reason other to show that they can.

Kefka drowns in a sea of 9999s.

“Life…dreams…hope“ Kefka warns. “These are things I would have destroyed earlier if I knew you jerks were maxing out your abilities!”

The fight lasts no longer than a minute. Kefka is left weeping. He pleads for his life as his lower half turns to dust. The Returners don’t relent. They tear him limb from limb to add insult to injury. The world shakes and changes color around them.

“GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!”

The jester is vanquished. The magicite shatters. The world is saved.

What follows is a blur. Terra’s mind is a flurry of thoughts as she leads the Returners back downstairs to the waiting Falcon. She can’t believe the nightmare is over. She can’t believe it was so easy. Mostly, she can’t believe it wasn’t more fun.

A black, pulsating mass with an angry expression on its face hangs to the side of Bowser’s interior stomach wall. The blob laughs maniacally and spits out tiny angry mini-blobs. They skitter off towards other parts of the body, spreading misery and mayhem wherever they go.

It doesn’t take a doctor to see that if someone doesn’t intervene quickly on Bowser’s behalf, it’s only a matter of time before this tumor claims the giant dinosaur’s life.

Mario and Luigi stand before the rubbery mass with awestruck expressions on their faces. The two tiny Italian plumbers who have working their way through the lizard’s innards for seven hours now. This is the first time they’ve seen anything like this.

“Holy-a-macaroni! It’s-a-tumor!” Luigi exclaims. “It’s-a-bigger-than-anything-I’ve-ever-a-seen! Do-you-think-it’s-a-cancerous, Mario?”

Mario removes his trademark red cap and scratches his chin. “I-don’t-a-practice-a-medicine-a-anymore, Luigi. But-a-I’d-bet-a-you-two-canolis-that-a-Bowser-only-have-a-couple-more-weeks-a-to-live!”

“Oh-no! I’m-a-take-care-of-this!” Luigi shouts as he pulls a gigantic green turtleshell out of his back pocket. He prepares to punt it like a football. Mario holds out his hand. Luigi balks. “What’s-a-the-problem, Mario?”

“Let’s-a-think-about-this-a-little-bit…”

“What’s-a-there-to-think-about? We-a-need-Bowser-to-live-so-a-he-can-save-the-Kingdom-from-that-a-terrible-Fawful!” Luigi says and kicks the ground angrily.

“I-a-know-that, you-silly-slice-a-spaghetti!” Mario says and puts his cap back on. “But-you-know-as-well-as-I-do-that-a-Bowser-only-cause-a-trouble-for-us-all-the-time! I-think-it-a-make-more-sense-to-let-a-nature-take-its-course-this-time.”

Luigi stares at his brother for a few seconds, then at the tumor. “But-it’s-a-in-our-way!” It’s true. The tumor is blocking the path to Bowser’s prostate. It looks like there’s no way around it. “I-think-a-we-should-just-a-jump-on-it-a-few-times-and-see-what-happens.”

Mario sighs. “Okay-a-Luigi, I-guess-we-can-do-that-but-the-important-think-is-that-we-don’t-break-the—“ He jumps in surprise. “NO-LUIGI-A-STOP!

It’s too late. Luigi has already punted the shell directly into the tumors fat, cancerous face. The shell punctures the mass’s thin skin and hundreds of mini-blobs pour out. They cackle as they invade Bowser’s innards. Mario slaps his forehead. Luigi’s cheeks turns bright red. “Oopsie-daisy!” he says softly.

“Oopsie-daisy-is-a-right, you-big-Leaning-Tower-a-Pizza! Now-a-there-a-gonna-be-cancer-all-over-the-place! You-just-took-away-weeks-of-his-life!”

Luigi avoids his brother’s gaze. “I’m-a-gonna-tell-him-after-we-a-get-rid-of-that-terrible-Fawful. Don’t-worry,” he says.

Mario shakes his head and starts forward. He bounces from stray blob of baby cancer to stray blob of baby cancer as he goes.

Luigi follows suit, but stays a few blobs back.“No, a-Luigi. We-not-gonna-tell-a-nobody-about-this, okie-dokie?” Mario asks. “If-anyone-a-ask, we-a-never-saw-a-no-cancer. We-a-both-gonna-be-as-quiet-as-a-couple-a-Yoshi.”

The English countryside is especially scenic this crisp August afternoon. Professor Hershel Layton, in his trademark top hat, serves me Earl Gray tea on his veranda. His boy companion, Luke, stands by his side and offers me milk and sugar.

“We like to start the day with a series of riddles to stretch the mind. Watch,” Layton says. “Luke, what is broken as soon as it is spoken?”

The young boy furrows his brow. “…Silence?”

“Exactly my boy! Right-o, here’s another easy one: Luntwood and St. George’s are 60 miles apart. Jasper leaves Luntwood for St. George’s at a 20 kilometer per hour pace at 7 AM. His friend, William, leaves St. Georges for Luntwood at 7:30 AM at a 10 kilometer per hour pace. Now, say the mangled remains of a prostitute are found on the roadside, 3 miles south of Leeds, the halfway point…”

Luke scribbles on his notepad.

“Which of the two picked up the prostitute, dismembered her, and dumped her bloody torso on the side of the road? Wasit Jasper or Will? Hm?”

Luke looks over his notes. He looks a little green. “Gee. That’s a tough one professor. You know I’m no good at math!”

Layton chuckles playfully as he ruffles the boy’s hair. “I suppose that’s why I’m the Professor, eh? You best figure it out before another lady of the night is mutilated! Fine, fine. I’ll give you a hint: both men traveled via carriage, but only Will brought along his hacksaw.”

Professor Layton has been well-known in private eye circles for decades, but it’s only recently that he has become England’s most notorious crime solver. It took the work of a prolific serial killer dubbed “The Platswood Puppeteer” – after the way he strung up his victims like marionettes – for the brilliant detective to really become a revered public icon. Since cracking that case a little over a year ago, the good professor has been sought after by police forces all over the world to help with their toughest, grisliest cases.

“It’s quite flattering, really,” Layton says as he takes a sip of his tea. We’re in the spare bedroom that he has converted into a makeshift classroom. Behind him, Luke is prying a bejeweled necklace off the dug up skeleton of a nobleman. Every few seconds he stops to spit in a bucket.

“At first I felt that all these cases would get in the way of my various adventures – Golden Apples and Diabolical Boxes and all that – but then I saw it as an opportunity for Luke’s tutelage. The boy has a firm grasp on word jumbles, but his knowledge of hooker anatomy leaves much to be desired.”

It’s not all work at the Layton estate. There’s plenty of time for recreation. Layton shows off the various jigsaw puzzles he has framed on the wall.

“That one right there was particularly tricky,” he points to a replica of Monet’s Vétheuil in the Fog. “Persistence, that’s the key to solving a good puzzle. That and a young boy who does your bidding. Speaking of which, let’s see what Luke is up to, shall we?

Layton leads me back to the veranda. Our tea has cooled considerably. Luke is playing croquet by himself on the lawn.  Layton takes a seat in his chair and watches Luke with a concerned gaze as he stuffs tobacco into his pipe.

“Luke! Have you solved the Riddle of the Hamshire Fister’s burn victim?” he yells.

“This morning!”

Layton sighs. “There are five houses. The Spaniard lives in the blue house. The Old Gold smoker is performing illegal abortions…”

“The bobbies arrested Niles Russell hours ago.”

Satisfied, Layton leans back in his chair and basks in the dusk-tinted light. The white noise of insects and birds gives him the chance to unwind from the rigors of the seemingly endless set of mental gymnastics he does daily. He lights his pipe and puffs.
“I can’t imagine living anywhere else. I simply enjoy the country life too much.” Layton takes a sip of his Earl Grey. “Cities are ghastly. No place to raise a boy.”

Additional reporting by Hardcasual’s own Filipe Salgado.