(This is the exciting, the terrible, the much-needed into today's era:
The Tale of the Grim Gramma of Gaming Before XboxDad was a proud parent of many squeaking, squawking third-party children, and kicked them out into the street (after they ran away) and vowed to get his revenge upon them (which involved him welcoming them all back into his house with open arms), the great benevolent XboxDad was an itty-bitty KidBox. His own parents weren't around. His mom was a bunch of Hanafuda cards and his dad was a mechanical grabbing hand toy, and they met up and conceived him in a love hotel. Unfortunately, they both vanished due to the changing technological climate, leaving the tiny, crying KidBox behind. 'Wah, wah!' remarked the tiny KidBox, lonely and afraid. He tried to make his own way in the world, but his only offering, Radar Scope, seemed not to appease the masses. It was then that his mother's mother, the great Grim Gramma of Gaming, took in the hapless KidBox. "I will raise you properly," she said in a stern voice, gripping her stick, "because your skeezy mother left you to the wolves." "Goo!" proclaimed the baby KidBox, though 'World of Goo' wouldn't be released on Xbox Gold for almost 5 years, and even when it did, it didn't live up to hype. "I'm going to raise the living crap out of you, KidBox!" So the sparkling baby went to live with the Grim Gramma. And for a time, all was well. The Gramma instructed Xboxdo in the ways of gaming, and in that time, KidBox flourished. Halo, and many more hits came from the forming mind of the growing child. Grandmother was pleased. Then, the time Grim Gramma had been dreading rolled around. KidBox was no longer a Kid, but an adult. It was time for XboxMAN to set out into the world, and find its way. "You must make a home console!" proclaimed the Grim Gramma. "No more of this playing around in the dingy marshes of the arcade swamp. You must crawl onto the dry land of the consumer's home!" "Yes, Gramma-San!" said the culturally inaccuate XboxMAN. He put his hand on the knob, eager to set out into the world. It was then that he felt the mighty stick swing down and catch him on the back of the head. Blinding flashes of pain shot through his head like a lightning bolt. His eyes went red and crossed in agony. He slowly turned around. "Grim Gramma of Gaming! Whyever for did you strike me?" "Because, XboxMAN," the Gramma cackled. "You are my child, my BABY! AND YOU CAN NEVER LEAVE!" "But what about setting out in the world? About forging a home console?" "You can forge a home entertainment experience, and you must. But mark my words, strapling: you will NEVER leave this house, the house of your Gramma of Gaming! I gave up too much to raise you!" Head hung low, spirits squashed, XboxMAN set about making a home console experience. All was well in the world. The console was well-received. The world rejoiced. The days flew by. XboxMAN gave birth to all the third-parties, who jittered and chickled around his feet like clucking ducklings. (I think he mated with Sister Sony or something. He must have been sneaking somebody in the house to have all those chickens.) Anyway, he eventually released another system, the 360, and that was loved. But his old girlfriend Sega was stabbing him in the back, and released their own system. The XboxDad needed to do something, so he dialed his booty call Sony. Sony said "SURE, we'd LOVE to help you make a new add-on to compete with Sister Kinect." "Grim Gramma! Grim Gramma!" XboxDad cried, filled with joy. "Sony and I are going to form a partnership! We will dominate together!" came the stick, "You MUST NOT partner with ANYONE else on equal footing, my dear and marvellous boy! YOU are better than them! You are better than EVERYONE! You must change the deal, and stick it to these Sony before they know what hit them! RULE THEM WITH AN IRON FIST!" "But, Grim Gramma of Gaming! I think we really have a chance for an epic partnership here, and I wouldn't want to--" "YOU are the special one! YOU will always be my boy! YOU YOU YOU YOU YOU!" cackled the Gramma. "I don't care HOW you do it! BURN SONY TO THE GROUND IF YOU HAVE TO! Just don't accept any deal in which you are anything less than the RULER OF THE UNIVERSE! Because you are MY SPECIAL BOY!" So, forced to agree with his Grim Gramma, XboxDad tried to make Sega agree to horrible, horrible terms. Sega backed out, and released their own games multiplatform. XboxDad was emotionally devistated. Why had he been forced to push Sega away? Spurned Sega had become a powerful adversary. Then, the unthinkable happened. Each new system XboxDad made dwindled, while the opposition did better and better. A new opponent, Mad Nintendo, entered the fray, and, together with Spurned Sony, they decimated XboxDad's marketshare. XboxDad snuck off from his increasingly senile grandmother, and made Kinect and ONE in secret, and for a time all had improved with the system's sales. But the Grim Gramma of Gaming was not impressed. "I'll teach you to think you can get away from me!" she cried, pummelling XboxDad with blows. The third-party children fled the house in terror at the sound of the Grim Gramma's merciless beating. "Please!" cried XboxDad desperately, holding his hands out before his face. "Stop!" "I will NEVER stop beating you! You abandoned the ways of the Grim Gramma of Gaming!" "But this is our most successful generation of hardware in years!" XboxDad said, trying to get her to listen to reason. "YOU ARE THE MOST SUCCESSFUL LOUT OF ALL TIME!" Grim Gramma cried, breaking her broomstick over XboxDad's head. "You are a successful CRETIN!" NintenDad simply stood there, and took the beating. Over time, he began to develop Stockholm Syndrome. The Grim Gramma MUST be right, he began to think. So, he forged the ONE and KINECT 2.0, and sent them out into the world. They landed with a resounding thud. The Xbox ONE knocked such a big hole in the earth as it fell through the dirt that people put up a barricade around it, lest they fall in and die. "But I listened to the Grim Gramma of Gaming!" XboxDad lamented. "How could the Xbox ONE be such a failure?" came a loud cry, from a thousand directions at once. "Wha-- What was that?" said XboxDad, afraid. "WE ARE MANY. WE ARE ONE," came the reply. "Who's there?" XboxDad asked again, his voice trembling. "WE ARE THE VOICE OF THE SQUAD OF SILENCE. WE ARE THE CULT OF COMMERCIAL IGNORANCE. WE ARE WORSHIPPERS OF XboxDAD." The voices came from all around him - many voices, one speech. It continued. "AND WE WILL NOT TOLERATE ANYONE--EVEN YOU, NINTENDAD HIMSELF--SPEAKING ILL OF OUR GOD!" XboxDad quaked. "But it's true!" he said. "Our sales have plummeted compared to last gen." "But we have to take steps to improve our business, or--" "But," XboxDad said, "I don't see how you can say that when we are being beaten by the other guys by a magnitude of--" "Then why are they the biggest selling games each year? All I'm saying is, we need to improve our sales in order to stay compet--" "I just don't see how I can reason with you, Squad of Silence! It's like you are--" XboxDad hung his head, walked to the couch, and flopped down on it. He saw no way to win. "So, my dear," cackled the Grim Gramma of Gaming, "I made you some cookies." "I'm not hungry," he said sullenly. Just then, a thousand voices speaking as one rang through the house. XboxDad sighed, put the cookie in his mouth, and tried not to cry. To be Continued...
and the Cult-like SQUAD of SILENCE
THWAK
THWAK
SHHHHHHhhhHhHHH!
SILENCE!
UNTRUE. YOU ARE ACTUALLY DOING GREAT
NOBODY PLAYS THOSE BROWN AND GREY SHOOTERS
SILENCE! XBOXDAD IS ALL! XBOXDAD IS LIFE!
HATER! HATER! You just want XBOXDOOM!
YES YOU ARE! YOU'RE VERY HUNGRY! AND NPD IS BIASED!
