I'm famous. I don't mean to sound
conceited, but I am famous.
To put it in terms more palatable to the lower classes who are only capable of absorbing
information when it rhymes: I'm more famous
than John Stamos - I mean now, not at the height of his fame. For those of you that
still need to muddle through each pathetic, fameless day gripping your worthless high
school diplomas secure in the knowledge that the thousands of hours you spent sort of
learning French and Science make you better than the average illiterate working man, I can
offer only this advice: don't fully explore level Q3DM19 of the monster hit game Quake 3 Arena. Just
don't, that's all I'm saying. If you want to continue to feel good about your
hard-won but ultimately anonymous existence, just skip that level entirely. Come to
think of it, I'm more than regular
famous; I'm one of the special, single-name celebrities like Charo and God and Frankenstein.
Yet with all my fame and
heavy connections, nobody at Origin
had the common decency to include me in the industry-wide memo that informed famous
heavy-hitters of the fact that Ultima IX is broken and should not be
As a result, guess who payed for Ultima IX? Me. And guess who's going to pay for
making me pay for Ultima IX? Lord British.
This is the point where I would normally take a phrase and cleverly turn
it to make it more foul-mouthed and punch-centric. For instance: I'm gonna put
fifty bucks of fat into your fucking lip, British.
If there's one thing funnier than punching, it's punching a forty year old
man wearing a crown. And if that man just stole fifty bucks from you and everyone
you know, including sick children, then it might just transcend mere comedy and become
something magical, like vigilante justice.
However, our shift supervisor at UGO feels that all our "punch and fuck" humor appeals mainly
to people living below the poverty line and not to the coveted demographic of super-smart
adventure game types with a strong desire to spend their disposable income on detailed
instructions for viewing "Tomb Raider's" tit-like cubes. He suggested that
we try some "classy and intelligent" humor, such as anagrams.
After some research, I've discovered that nothing says "punch me
before I talk about Linux" like anagrams. I enjoy the general broken English
vibe of anagrams - foreigners = funny- but I really hate the headache-generating rule
that you have to rearrange the existing letters of a word to form these funny
phrases. I don't want to do that. Nobody
I know wants to do that. So I've invented a new form of wordgame for people who
aren't fucking geniuses that I call Cramagrams. I named it Cramagrams because when
some bearded stinkpit wearing a potato-chip stained User Friendly T-shirt and fat pants
whines that your work isn't really an anagram, you can tell him no, it's a
Cramagram. When he asks what that is, you tell him it's just like an anagram except
you're going to cram your foot up his ass. If your life is anything like Sanford
and Son, he'll probably say "Well, I never" at which point you should consider
replying "and with that distended belly, you never will." Then cram your
foot up his ass.
Anyway, here's how it works:
Pick a word or phrase to be "rearranged". In the rough
street-inspired parlance of Cramagrams, this is called the "motherfucking
Cramagrams borrows the concept of "buying a vowel" from TV's
Wheel of Fortune, with the following two modifications: your purchase doesn't have to be a
vowel and you don't have to actually buy it. In other words, simply replace the
motherfucking determinant with any phrase you want. As long as it sounds like it
could be a clever anagram, you win! That's the "motherfucking magic of
Cramagrams!" [Note to id software: ой - ed.]
The third rule of Cramagrams is that you don't talk about Cramagrams.
It's really more of a personality test than a word game. Explain the rules
only if somebody's uptight enough to point out that your found poetry isn't a proper
anagram. The explanation can help pass the time as the fire department is uncramming
your foot from his ass.
Here's a sample:
Ultima IX: Ascension
Don't work? Tuf!
I rip u off
pewter ankh. bah!
buy fast car! thanx!
L Brit: crowny fag
Cloth map? wipe ass!
boo hoo TNT
Money where? In toilet?
If anybody has Lord British's email address, home address, or phone
address, please forward it to me. I don't
know about the rest of you, but I'm getting my money back. If you're Lord British
and you're reading this: you and your boyfriend Chuckles better enjoy my fifty bucks while
you can, jerkoff. If you're Chris Roberts: you and your boyfriend Lord British
better enjoy my $7.50 while you can, asswipe, because, now that I think about it, I want
my Wing Commander The Shitty Movie money back, too.