Outraged citizens in the Town of Monteriggioni took to the streets today as Ezio Auditore, the town’s “secret” oligarch and infamous assassin, announced a plan to remodel the town’s fountain for a third time using funds from an undisclosed source. Many protestors claim these funds came from their own pockets, and state Ezio stole the florins himself, and didn’t have the decency to run away but instead merely walked at a fast pace hoping no one would notice.

One citizen shared this grievance: “We’re only asking for a little transparency here. I’m willing to pay a property tax- heck, I’d even throw money at him for the ‘don’t stab me in the back’ tax- but I’d at least like to know beforehand where the money is going. I mean, I can see why we need a well for fresh water, and I understand why a brothel might attract more tourism, but a Thieves’ Guild? Really? How does that help the wealth of a city? A safe zone to train more thieves to rob people? Where does the money go then? Back into the hands of Ezio’s Architect, who then remodels the Thieves’ Guild?

“I also heard that he spends a lot of ‘public funds’ on paintings for his house. I get it: it’s the Renaissance. But give me a fucking break! I don’t care if they those paintings reveal more secrets about the effects of time travel! The Future is a long time from now, and I’m stuck here in 1478 with no money to buy the niceties Renaissance Italians enjoy, like a new set of rags or a mask for Carnival”

Other citizens were a bit angrier: “It was kind of cute when there were only six people living in this town, and Ezio thought dressing like a knight would help him keep a low profile. Then we would let him steal a little money from our pockets, until it became obvious he thought we didn’t notice! He kept tearing down wanted posters with pictures of him, as if we’d forget what he looks like. He’s the most notorious assassin in Italy; I think we know when he sits on a bench next to us!

“He’s also one of the few people in town who hasn’t lost his nose to The Pox, of course we know his face! When he stole money from a lot of my relatives, then did a swan dive off the church tower into a haystack, that’s when I knew he was mocking us. Or when Da Vinci gave him that flying machine? Forget it! When you’re literally the only person who can fly, you’re no longer in hiding.”

Finally, one citizen offered this solution: “He should have the decency to get his money through acceptable means, like murdering deviant Popes or stabbing other thieves to death in the center to entertain us. Has he not read The Prince yet? Even serfs know the two things you never take from people is land and women. I think he must have meant money as well. Maybe Ezio should listen to the guy instead of just using a world renown writer as another hand in murdering people! I hope Dante is somewhere writing a new Epic, instead of wasting his time running around and killing things!”

Further reporting by Dan Wilbur.

Seriously, man…what the fuck?!

You know, when you invite your buddy over to kick some Left 4 Dead 2 zombie ass, the last thing you expect is to have your things covered in a thin layer of shit.

That dumbass, Mike, calls me up this afternoon asking if he can come over and play some Xbox.  “Sure,” I said, “We can take turns playing.”  The next thing I know, Mike’s sitting on my couch squirming back and forth like he’s got a gerbil trapped in his colon.  Turns out, I was partially right.  But instead of a gerbil, his sphincter was holding back a turd that would make an African elephant blush.

That jerk stands up suddenly, right as he’s about to be attacked by a Jockey, and runs out of the room.  “What the Hell are you doing?” I yelled at him. “Oh, uh,” he said, “I just need to take a leak.”

That “leak” lasted 15 minutes.  I went and made a sandwich, ate it, and purchased no less than three sassy accessories for my Live avatar before he emerged from the bathroom.  What’s worse, after he was finished lining my toilet bowl with Satan’s chili, I noticed the absence of one distinctive sound.  The sound of his filthy hands being washed.

Mike came strutting into the room, grinning like he had just lost twenty pounds.  “What did I miss?” he said, plopping down on the couch and immediately picking up my controller.  I could imagine his disgusting butt butter desecrating what I hold dear with each press of the “A” button.

No, I didn’t actually see any feces being applied to the controller – but I knew it was there.  I refuse to eat the free peanuts at the bar for the same reason.  Sure, they look delicious, but they are secretly coated in urine-soaked filth.  My God, my controller has been reduced to a free bar peanut.

I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong.  I am not a germ freak.  I’m just a very hygienic person.  It’s completely normal to soak your silverware in hydrogen peroxide after having dinner guests over, regardless of what my ex-girlfriend says.

When Mike left later that afternoon, I took the defiled peripheral outside and set it on fire.  That may sound a bit extreme, but I’m pretty sure the Board of Health would approve.

Sure, this was a terrifying event, but I’m not going to hold any grudge against Mike.  I’m really looking forward to going over to his house to play PS3 tomorrow.  His toothbrush and I have a colonoscopy appointment.

Further reporting by Hardcasual’s Matt Clark.

“LOL PSN MORE LIKE P-SUCKIN”

“PLAYSTATION MORE LIKE PRAY-IT-WORKS-STATION”

“HEAVY RAIN MORE LIKE SHITTY RAIN ON MY SYSTEM THAT DOESN’T WORK”

These are just some of the output of 360Gamer4939, a young man from Florida whose pride in his choice of gaming system knows no bounds. In these, and countless other posts on message boards, game blogs, and internet chat rooms, he has boasted for over a week about the brief outage of the PlayStation Network for gamers around the world.

“It may have been the best thing that ever happened to me,” he told us. “PS3 fans always get to be so smug with their ‘wah wah red ring this’ and ‘blah blah service outage that’. Well, guess what – now who’s got the reliable system? That’s right, me. Suck on that, PlayStation fans.”

The tables, it seems, have been turned – at least in the eyes of 360Gamer4939. Whereas once, he had to resort to mudslinging like “GEM IS A GAY NAME” and “ROLE-PLAYING GAMES ARE FOR FAGS”, now he has a strong basis for his argument – the brief outage of an online service, for a portion of PlayStation 3 users. “The facts are finally 100% on my side – the Xbox 360 is clearly the better system.”

360Gamer4939 will continue to preach the gospel anywhere he sees fit – as long as it doesn’t involve leaving his computer chair. He has a lot of time to preach the gospel these days – his 360 is currently on its way back from being repaired for its fifth red-ring.

Last week, Tomonobu Itagaki – the man who created Dead or Alive and brought Ninja Gaiden into the 3D era – announced that he had reached a settlement with his previous employer, Tecmo.  Many of the settlement’s details remained unclear, but fans of the always-in-shades man seemed relieved.  Given the apparent completion to this scandal, many were perplexed when Itagaki called a “press conference” at a local bar earlier today.

“I’ve called you all here because it’s time I made a confession,” stated Itagaki from his barstool, “I know how hard you all love me, so I want to be completely honest.”

The meeting’s audience, which consisted of equal parts videogame press and young Japanese girls in bikinis, attempted to hush their confused chatter.  The room became quiet as Itagaki lit his thirteenth cigarette in as many minutes.

“As you are all aware, I’m pretty much a badass,” started a visibly inebriated Itagaki, “I make all these amazing videogames; I’m always smoking cigarettes…and to top it off, I never take off my dark, mysterious sunglasses that make me look like a member of Guitar Wolf.”

Itagaki grabbed another cocktail, lit another cigarette with an original Tecmo Bowl poster, and placed one black cowboy boot on a table.  “I’ve heard what you’ve all said,” he began, “I’ve read your theories; your ridiculous ideas as to what lies behind my totally awesome sunglasses.  So, I’m not sure if it’s the buzz from taking $1.42 million of Tecmo’s cash or this insanely expensive whiskey, but I’m going to show you all today.  Today…the glasses come off!”

Following Itagaki’s statement, several ninjas erupted from the walls of the bar as a fog machine accentuated the sudden rise of pumping techno music.  The bikini wearing girls immediately broke into a round of vigorous volleyball while Itagaki rose from a platform in the middle of the floor.  The press held their breath as Itagaki slowly raised his hands to his sunglasses.  Then, with dramatic flair, he ripped them off his face to reveal – another pair of sunglasses.

The entire room grew silent in disbelief.  “Yes,” Itagaki said, “Under my sunglasses awaits another pair of sunglasses!”  The crowd began to grumble, having a hard time believing their host’s words.  “Don’t believe me, huh?!”

Itagaki immediately grabbed a young journalist from his chair and screamed, “Go ahead! Take them off!”  The games blogger reached up and timidly removed Itagaki’s glasses.  The audience gasped in horror as another pair of sunglasses was waiting immediately underneath.

“Now you know,” said a somber Itagaki, “I have an extremely rare eye condition called Coreyhartitis.  It causes the sufferer to constantly spawn new sunglasses from their face – even at night.  That’s right; I even have to wear my sunglasses at night.  Just imagine what it’s like, watching you all weave and breath your storylines.  Many times, it’s hard to keep track of the visions in my eyes.”

The bar was quiet as Itagaki looked at the ground.  Then, from the back of the room, there was a faint clapping.  The sound grew louder as everyone turned to see the man who applauded the afflicted game developer.  Walking out from the smoky shadows, former Tecmo President Yoshimi Yasuda clapped loudly – a single tear running down his cheek.

The two men met in the center of the room and hesitated for a brief moment before embracing.  The bar exploded in applause.  Jerry Goldsmith’s Hoosiers theme swelled as the pair was lifted upon the cheering shoulders of ninjas and bikini girls alike.  But, before being carried off to create his next great videogame, Tomonobu Itagaki looked back to deliver one last message to his fans:

“Please continue your unwavering support for me and my awesome sunglasses!”

Further reporting by Hardcasual’s Matt Clark.

In Redmond, Washington, home of Microsoft and the Xbox Live team, workers are scurrying around the clock in preparation for the holidays. While their co-workers are finishing up their last bits of work and setting their out-of-office auto-replies to cute “seeing Avatar for the fourth time” messages, these net monkeys are getting ready for the most important weekend of the year – the weekend their online service fails completely.

“Sure, it’s happened every Christmas so far,” said Mark Griffin, reliability officer at Xbox Live, “But this year, we’ve attached the ethernet cables with extra duct tape. In fact, I’ve used over seven rolls of duct tape on this Xbox alone. Wait, what do these blinking red lights mean? Is that bad?”

As many Xbox users have noticed, the massive holiday influx of new users means one thing for the popular online service – a series of failures that lasts days, if not weeks. The tradition ranks up there with Sony PR leaks as a piece of modern gaming history – a piece of history we can all live within, if we can connect to the internet long enough to matchmake a game of Left 4 Dead 2 and briefly discuss it.

This year, workers are toiling around the clock to make sure that plans are in place for the outage. One worker has already supplied the MajorNelson twitter feed with over 30 unique phrases to auto-respond to dejected users, from “we’re working on it” to “please call technical support.” These life-like responses are designed to mirror the efforts of an organization that cares about and monitors its userbase.

Another worker told Hardcasual, “Listen – once the holidays roll around, most of our tech support staff is switched over to PR duties. Basically, it’s more important to reinforce in the press that we’re outselling Sony in the console race. How are we supposed to plan for the possibility that some of the people who bought those systems might try to use them online in the days after Christmas? I mean, how could we ever assume people might start using a video game system THEN, of all times?”

No matter what, though, gamers are sure to enjoy the new features of Xbox Live. “Well, even if you can’t get online, at least you can still use Facebook, Last.FM, Zune streaming, and all the other awesome things we’ve been working on for Xbox Live users all year. Oh, wait. You can’t? Well, shit. Too bad about the weak single-player in Modern Warfare 2, huh?”

Listen up, Dad.

I’m going to Afghanistan. In a video game. And there’s nothing you can do about it. Because my country needs me to play this game so I can fight in a real war one day when I’m angry or just really strapped for cash.

Do you hear me? I know you’re right outside my door.

I know what you think. That fighting in Afghanistan in a video game is a complex something and I don’t get it; that I’m not mature enough. But you’re wrong. Mature games are for people 17+ and I’m 18. Do you hear me? That’s mature enough by a whole year!

I know something about Afghanistan and warfare.

What are the rules of engagement? Um, like headshots are one hit kills. Same with melee attacks. Remember spawn points and camping is for pussies.

Afhganistan? It’s rocky. And the bad guys wear berets and checkered scarves  and menacing aviator shades. I’m not a noob to this stuff, Dad.

Now let me ask you question. 9/11. Ever heard of it? Because it happened. And all the people that planned 9/11, they lived in Afghanistan for awhile and then they moved to Iraq but now they’re back in Afghanistan. And if I do really well killing them in this video game just imagine what I could do in real life. I could single-handedly avenge every death on American soil. I mean, have you seen my kill/death ratio?

Hey, hey hey – don’t cry, Dad. I don’t want you upset. It’s just, I know you think I’m a screw up. And maybe you’re right. But you deserve to know it’s not your fault I struggle so much with school. Class is just…it’s just so boring. And long. And it’s like, what’s this ever going to do for me in the real world? Playing all these video games, they’re training me for something big. Something I understand sort of.

I know it’s possible that I’ll die in Afghanistan in a video game. And that my stats will get really low and that the real army won’t want to recruit me and that then I won’t have enough money to buy Lisa all the stuff she wants and that she’ll like probably leave me, but what else do I have?  Where else can a high school drop out go? Culinary school? Oh Dad, if only I’d played Cooking Mama.

When Mrs. Biederman brought home the copy of Tony Hawk: RIDE, carefully tucking it away behind the towels in the family linen closet, she must have missed the thick gloom that followed her car back from the Best Buy like the grimmest of wedding cans.

Excreting from the video game’s box, a tangible sadness embedded itself deep within the Biederman household, hidden behind walls and in unused cabinet space. It was at first no more noticeable than a fresh mosquito bite. The kids would just suddenly lack any drive to help clean the table or Mrs. Biderman might cry a little longer than usual during those seasonal commercials where the son comes home from Iraq — with a tin of instant brew coffee nonetheless. No one knew where these feelings came from or why they had arrived. They just were. And then they weren’t.

Ignored and enraged, the portents persisted. One late afternoon, the Biedermans’ dog, Bo, barked at the front door for a good two hours with nothing out there but the slightest of drizzles. And on another, while doing her Algebra homework, their daughter and middle child, questioned if maybe, like was it possible if, Mr. and Mrs. Biederman had adopted her. After all, neither of them had her nose.

The uneasiness brewing in that linen closet was almost pinned down when, on a night less than two weeks from Christmas, Mr. Biederman tucked in his youngest. While plucking crusties from his son’s eyes, he noticed the child’s skin had turned rigid and cold. “Like a crocodile,” he told Mrs. Biederman during their nightly alone time together in front of the television. “You,” she snorted, “have never once touched a crocodile.” “I’ve touched crocodile boots,” he countered but by then Dancing With the Stars had returned from the commercial break and the peculiar occurrence was all but forgotten.

No matter how clear the omen, how obvious the warning that something was wrong, really, really wrong, it seemed the Biedermans managed to fold it up neatly with their logic and pack it away to be forgotten like all those old linens in the closet. And the copy of Tony Hawk RIDE ensconced between them.

On Christmas Eve, the gods, or whichever forces in the universe whom decide what is right, took action against the looming threat of a Christmas morning with Tony Hawk RIDE. Like a Roman candle, the Christmas tree erupted spontaneously into flames after one of its infinite tiny colorful light bulbs burst with a charge, lighting the dry green needles and sending them whizzing across the living room. Ornaments cracked and ruptured from the heat and the sharp smell of burnt popcorn filled the house since the healthy snack had been freshly strung and hung on the tree that morning.

When the firemen finally let the Biederman clan return to the house, they found a heavy glob of brown and green goop pocked with sparkly glass and ceramics where the tree and the presents once were.

But Tony Hawk RIDE had not been there under the tree. Mrs. Biederman originally thought it would be such a surprise, on Christmas morning after the kids finished with the other presents, to send them up to the linen closet for one last gift. Now, RIDE would be the only present as the rest had been destroyed and any remaining money in the family’s savings account would be used to repair the house and finance their eldest daughter’s reconstructive surgeries — her burns were quite hideous.

24-hours passed slowly, as they tend to do while filling out home insurance claims and tending to your burn-victim daughter, but soon enough Christmas morning arrived. The children and their father huddled in the living room around the Christmas glob, which hadn’t been removed though they all knew it probably should have been as it was clearly a health hazard. Mrs. Biederman, upstairs, reached through the towels in the linen closet until her hands blindly clasped the hard videogame box. She pulled it out and made her way downstairs, delusionally triumphant, thinking this the savior of an otherwise dreadful holiday.

She set the parcel before the family and perched herself on the glob. The youngest son, whose skin had grown so cold and hard that it flaked where it met his cuticles, gingerly peeled back the wrapping paper. “Tony…” he read aloud, pulling the paper back more.

And darkness swallowed the house.

It’s not hard to understand. All I’m saying is zombies are real, I need three men to help me survive them and I’m sorry, Tommy, but I don’t think you’re one of those men. You’re a great boyfriend, I just… I just don’t feel safe with you.

That doesn’t mean you won’t survive this. No, no, no, no, no. All it means is you won’t survive this with me. You could very well escape New Orleans in any number of ways. But one trip to a safe house together, me and you, would undoubtedly give power to a number of hot button issues I think we’ve done a commendable job inactivating. For example, how in this relationship I am more of a hunter and you are more of a gatherer.

Please, stop crying. Please. Huh? What’s that?

What do you mean no one will fight the zombie plague with you? What about Scott and Derrick? Or even Frank? You’re no Superman, sure, but Christ your friends make Woody Allen look like Allen Iverson.

What do you mean I shouldn’t pick on them? They deserve it!  OK, correction: I did not say it’s pathetic Frank moved back in with his mother after college. It’s pathetic she still cuts his food.  Whatever. I don’t want to talk about Frank. He’s fat and ugly and when I said my friends would love to date a nice guy like him I was lying.

Ok, calm down.

What’s this really about, Tommy? That I feel safer with your brother, Ellis? I said that was a joke. Kind of. I mean, would you blame me? Like, I was totally cynical when your mother got him that gym membership last Christmas. He was way heavier than you then. But he’s really stuck to it. And now his abs, it’s like a statue of David came to life with a natural ability to kick zombie ass and spot safe houses and protect me with his hunky arms…

Come. On. There’s nothing going on between me and him! I was joking. You know when you get paranoid like this it makes you so small. And you’re already like three inches shorter than me.

Tommy, I appreciate you. You do so much for me. You make an excellent vegetable chili. And that time I was on a trip for work and you caught that mouse all on your own, you were really brave.  On the flip side, Nick, Coach and your brother Ellis, they offer the security of a well-oiled killing machine. We cover eacher other. We share health packs. And we don’t cook vegetable chili.

Sometimes, Tommy, a girl’s got to go with her brains over her heart. Because when zombies are part of the equation, brains are what really matter.

The accusation, which has been cooking in political and videogame blogs for weeks, boiled over this week when Senator Perry, while playing Modern Warfare 2 with a sickly child at a leukemia fundraiser asked the a body guard how to invert the controls. “Make it more like Descent,” said Senator Perry.

Under incredible pressure from the public, Senator Perry held a small, private meeting with the press at his private estate, confessing he had “never served anytime as a Flag Runner,” but did spend a couple months after college playing the story modes in a “really great Coast Guard game.”

Critics of Mr. Perry wasted no time voicing their opinions:

“It spits in the face of all those gamers who voluntarily gave up their lives to constantly play this online phenomenon,” says Pvt. C0rnh0lio69, “It’s like he never served!  If he hasn’t been on a 25 enemy kill streak, how will he ever know to hit left on the d-pad to launch our tactical nuke perk and win the match?!”

“May I be the first to nominate MustLoveDog23?  He served his time, headset and all, and he has the record to prove it!  He’s won nearly every Prestige Mode medal!  What has Mr. Perry won? A couple achievements in BioShock. ”

Senator Perry claims his multiple years as a National Laser Tag Champion also benefit him as a potential Commander in Chief.

“What’s at stake here is the senator’s credibility,” says GravyGuy64 “What about his stories of ‘super-sick moments calling in air strikes’ and ‘knifing bros?’ Lies! All lies! We want our President to be a sociopathic virtual murderer.  That’s what he promised us in his campaign!”

“I know that I never served active duty online,” Perry said at his press conference this afternoon, “but I did win a Purple Heart for my service in the Gulf War.”

“Gulf War?!” says Pvt. C0rnh0lio69, “I stabbed my neighbor in the back just to get a flag back to some arbitrary spot.  What did he do?… Really, what did he do in the Gulf War? I was born in 1994.”

Additional reporting from Hardcasual’s own Daniel Wilbur.

Don’t let mainstream media brainwash you with their half-truths about Modern Warfare 2. Yes, the game  features a scene in which the player can (but doesn’t have to!) shoot civilians in an airport; however, in-game context proves developer Infinity Ward to be making an insightful, necessary point about terrorism and I’ll explain after you suck my balls, faggot.

Bitch.

See, fashioning a fictional act of terrorism that plucks our real life fears has hitherto been the stuff of post-9/11 authors and auteurs, doctors and documentarians. That’s why I predict, with its record setting sales, Modern Warfare 2 will act as an ambassador for video games as art, cathartic dramas, commentaries of our time, portals for human interaction in which you can gobble my nob like it’s a matza ball you fucking Jew.

Gobble-gobble, turkey ass bitch.

The public flogging of Modern Warfare 2 is just another example of mainstream media sacrificing earnest, nose to the grind stone coverage for lazy, just add water controversy. This wouldn’t have happened in the golden age of journalism—you know, before they hired all these niggers to cover basketball. What, you got a problem with the way I speak? Yeah, leave a comment, pussy ass bitch. I’ll come to your house and pop your momma’s ass.

Ratatatat, ratatat.

Modern Warfare 2 is more than a controversial single-player campaign. Its multiplayer mode is the perfect outlet for competitive gamers and also features the necessary materials – namely headsets and identity concealing user IDs – to culture my vernacular. It’s a forum for poet’s like myself, not poet’s like you, you Walt Whitman wannabe limp dick.

There’s also spec-ops, the coop mode. I play spec-ops with my friend, Jeffrey — no-homo.

It’s a game that expands our thoughts on globalism, militarism and the need for a real bro. Because bitches B Bitches 4 Life.

I wouldn’t be championing this if I didn’t believe in it.  I’m its biggest fan.

A Hardcasual Editorial by Lucas Sims, “MrSi6tyNi9e.”