Ubik

Yes. Or Charlize Theron, maybe? ...Well, that'll depend on whether she does the role of Aeon Flux justice. Which she better, or I'll leave centipede eggs in her fucking tampons.

SPRECHEN SIE FUCKING ENGLISH?

Comic->Cartoon->Action Figures->Game->Movies->More games->Another cartoon->More action figures. I think. I'm pretty sure TMNT1 and TMNT arcade came out before the first TMNT movie, and some of the later TMNT games came after the movies were out (TMNT3, the SNES TMNT games, etc).

Wait, killing a Cyberdemon with the SSG is hard? Change that to "pistol" and you'll have a better last option.

Mario Adventure? It fucking rules, BTW.

Jesus fucking christ. Either you're blatantly trolling or you're a fucking idiotic douchecannon.

Couldn't YOU when you started making it? Did you do absolutely no checking on alignments and geometry when you made it, and did you even playtest it? We'd rather you actually go back and improve the map than totally scrap it for a huge, overblown project that will inevitably end up disastrously crashing and that you're GUARANTEED not to finish in the first place.

Fixed.

We only flame you because you a) Rant about every single one of your projects like it's the work of Jebus himself, b) Never ever ever finish any of these "godly" projects, c) Expect people to not only ooh and aah over your levels, but to drop everything they're doing and jump on board your trainwreck projects, d) Refuse to EVER learn anything from your mistakes, e) Puff up your ego even more when people give your map the slightest praise and let it go to your head, preventing you from seeing some of the major faults of your work, f) Refuse to ever take on a reasonable task and try to make every one of your projects an immense, epic masterpiece, which ends up with it turning into a trainwreck and you quitting, g) Use /newproject tags when your projects are the most /newproject-y of them all, h) Get up on your high horse and bitch when people dare criticize your work, acting like some big persecuted martyr, i) Generally act like an arrogant, ignorant blowhard who refuses to act like a reasonable human being or accept criticism graciously, j) HAVE TERRIBLE GRAMMAR AND SPELLING AND REFUSE TO CORRECT THEM IN THE SLIGHTEST EVEN THOUGH NOBODY TAKES YOU SERIOUSLY BECAUSE OF IT. Jesus man, we'd LIKE for you to come out with the next absolute masterpiece WAD so you can prove us wrong, but with this attitude you never WILL, and people's expectations of you will forever be terminally low. Wise up and get over yourself, or you're going to continue to be a huge joke to the entire Doom community.

"YOU ENTERED A LEVEL" "A SHOTGUNNER SHOT YOU" "A SHOTGUNNER SHOT YOU" "A SHOTGUNNER SHOT YOU" "A SHOTGUNNER SHOT YOU" "YOU KILLED A SHOTGUNNER" "YOU KILLED A SHOTGUNNER" "YOU KILLED A SHOTGUNNER" "YOU KILLED A SHOTGUNNER" "YOU PICKED UP A SHOTGUN" "YOU PICKED UP A SHOTGUN" "YOU PICKED UP A SHOTGUN" "YOU PICKED UP A SHOTGUN" "YOU OPENED A DOOR" "YOU-"*sound of speakers sailing through window*

That's it, I'm boycotting Shadowrunner's maps until he finishes Tale of Doom.

Seconded. By the way, if it's a fact that SMB3 won because the polls were closed late, has anybody lodged a complaint against GameSpy yet?

http://web.ics.purdue.edu/~ubik/khan.gif CYYYYYYYYYYBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

And Deus Vult is already getting close.

Not if they're stupid about it.

Paper-thin light walls = NO And is it THAT fucking hard to draw a symmetrical shape? All you have to do is count how long the lines are and what angle they're at. At the VERY least, make the map look as if it doesn't have a perpetual limp to the left or something. Other than that, you're definetely improving.

Dammit, I missed lamb.

Very nice and innovative construction and detail. I'd like to playtest too.

One of my favorite parts of Philip K. Dick's A Scanner Darkly. And Numbermind, don't ask me, ask PKD. ;)

I wish I could say it's mine, but it's more of Philip Dick's genius. ;)

GET ON THE GOOD FOOT

Charles Freck, becoming progressively more and more depressed by what was happening to everybody he knew, decided finally to off himself. There was no problem, in the circles where he hung out, in putting an end to yourself; you just bought into a large quantity of reds and took them with some cheap wine, late at night, with the phone off the hook so no one would interrupt you. The planning part had to do with the artifacts you wanted found on you by later archeologists. So they'd know from which stratum you came. And also could piece together where your head had been at the time you did it. He spent several days deciding on the artifacts. Much longer than he had spent deciding to kill himself, and approximately the same time required to get that many reds. He would be found lying on his back, on his bed, with a copy of Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead (which would prove he had been a misunderstood superman rejected by the masses and so, in a sense, murdered by their scorn) and an unfinished letter to Exxon protesting the cancellation of his gas credit card. That way he would indict the system and achieve something by his death, over and above what the death itself achieved. Actually, he was not as sure in his mind what the death achieved as what the two artifacts achieved; but anyhow it all added up, and he began to make ready, like an animal sensing its time has come and acting out its instinctive programming, laid down by nature, when its inevitable end was near. At the last moment (as end-time closed in on him) he changed his mind on a decisive issue and decided to drink the reds down with a connoisseur wine instead of Ripple or Thunderbird, so he set off on one last drive, over to Trader Joe's, which specialized in fine wines, and bought a bottle of 1971 Mondavi Cabernet Sauvignon, which set him back almost thirty dollars--all he had. Back home again, he uncorked the wine, let it breathe, drank a few glasses of it, spent a few minutes contemplating his favorite page of The Illustrated Picture Book of Sex, which showed the girl on top, then placed the plastic bag of reds beside his bed, lay down with the Ayn Rand book and unfinished protest letter to Exxon, tried to think of something meaningful but could not, although he kept remembering the girl being on top, and then, with a glass of the Cabernet Sauvignon, gulped down all the reds at once. After that, the deed being done, he lay back, the Ayn Rand book and letter on his chest, and waited. However, he had been burned. The capsules were not barbiturates, as represented. They were some kind of kinky psychedelics, of a type he had never dropped before, probably a mixture, and new on the market. Instead of quietly suffocating, Charles Freck began to hallucinate. Well, he thought philosophically, this is the story of my life. Always ripped off. He had to face the fact--considering how many of the capsules he had swallowed--that he was in for some trip. The next thing he knew, a creature from between dimensions was standing beside his bed looking down at him disapprovingly. The creature had many eyes, all over it, ultra-modern expensive-looking clothing, and rose up eight feet high. Also, it carried an enormous scroll. "You're going to read me my sins," Charles Freck said. The creature nodded and unsealed the scroll. Freck said, lying helpless on his bed, "and it's going to take a hundred thousand hours." Fixing its many compound eyes on him, the creature from between dimensions said, "We are no longer in the mundane universe. Lower-plane categories of material existence such as 'space' and 'time' no longer apply to you. You have been elevated to the transcendent realm. Your sins will be read to you ceaselessly, in shifts, throughout eternity. The list will never end." Know your dealer, Charles Freck thought, and wished he could take back the last half-hour of his life. A thousand years later he was still lying there on his bed with the Ayn Rand book and the letter to Exxon on his chest, listening to them read his sins to him. They had gotten up to the first grade, when he was six years old. Ten thousand years later they had reached the sixth grade. The year he had discovered masturbation. He shut his eyes, but he could still see the multi-eyed, eight-foot-high being with its endless scroll reading on and on. "And next--" it was saying. Charles Freck thought, At least I got a good wine.

Battle cry: "I'm going to befoul you so utterly, Jesus himself will forsake you!"

Pacman Doom 2 is awesome. But I fail it. :(