The R.O.U.S.s, let me show you them. (Link found via ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
maggiebloome)
Hooray! I can has Wii!
If there's one thing I've learned from today, it's this: there is a Very Good Reason why the Wii is about the size and colour of a crack rock. And where once gamers might've been at risk from Nintendo Thumb, the risk here seems to be Nintedo Elbow, Nintendo Shoulder, and - if you're really getting into it - Nintendo Foot.
On the other hand, it's maddeningly fun. Whee! Run, little Mii! Hit the ball! Yay! (No, don't fall over, run faster, there! Woo! OUT? WHAT?! Hee! They flail their racquets in synch with Wiimote flailing!)
I foresee this machine slaying me with cute. Or with limbs falling off. Now all I need is Twilight Princess and a foam sword...
(and maybe some replacement limbs)
And just to let you know how truly weird my mind can be sometimes, when I was brushing my teeth this morning my brain came up with the idea of calling in plague-ridden.
And then the thought of doing so in 14th century London.
And that's about it for now.
Also, ow, my arms.
maggiebloome)Hooray! I can has Wii!
If there's one thing I've learned from today, it's this: there is a Very Good Reason why the Wii is about the size and colour of a crack rock. And where once gamers might've been at risk from Nintendo Thumb, the risk here seems to be Nintedo Elbow, Nintendo Shoulder, and - if you're really getting into it - Nintendo Foot.
On the other hand, it's maddeningly fun. Whee! Run, little Mii! Hit the ball! Yay! (No, don't fall over, run faster, there! Woo! OUT? WHAT?! Hee! They flail their racquets in synch with Wiimote flailing!)
I foresee this machine slaying me with cute. Or with limbs falling off. Now all I need is Twilight Princess and a foam sword...
(and maybe some replacement limbs)
And just to let you know how truly weird my mind can be sometimes, when I was brushing my teeth this morning my brain came up with the idea of calling in plague-ridden.
And then the thought of doing so in 14th century London.
"O my," my fictional purveyor of mistruth might have said; "perchance I imbibed last night somewhat too much of the good publican's finest." (...my fictional purveyor of mistruth was generally described by fictional neighbours as speaking a little strangely.) "Mayhap, this day I should stay within my home, better to rest and restore my head to a state more seemly."
"Lo! A messenger," the fictional purveyor of mistruth might then say. "Might I impress upon you to deliver unto my employer a declaration. For it doth seem, this day, that I do feel a little spot of plague coming on, so I should very much like to rest it off, and to not spread it around my colleagues. O, and messenger, do take care to play at a cough as you deliver my message, for it may better convince my employer of the gravest severity that is my plight."
And that's about it for now.
Also, ow, my arms.
