Category: Rookie of the Year
Rookie of the Year: A Note From Your Newly-Minted Foursquare Mayor
The following is the latest in a series of journal entries chronicling the author’s descent into next-gen gaming degeneracy and assorted geekery – from getting his first television in years to trying to figure out why the @$@$&@@ you need two goddamn directional pads just to walk down an effing hallway.
Rookie of the Year: Dudes Deserve To Be Pampered, Too
The following is the latest in a series of journal entries chronicling the author’s descent into next-gen gaming degeneracy and assorted geekery – from getting his first television in years to trying to figure out why the @$@$&@@ you need two goddamn directional pads just to walk down an effing hallway.
Rookie of the Year: Incomplete and Unabashedly Undiscerning Found Footage Horror Movie Guide
The following is the latest in a series of journal entries chronicling the author’s descent into next-gen gaming degeneracy and assorted geekery – from getting his first television in years to trying to figure out why the @$@$&@@ you need two goddamn directional pads just to walk down an effing hallway.
Rookie of the Year: Five Ideas For Temple Run, The Movie
The following is the latest in a series of journal entries chronicling the author’s descent into next-gen gaming degeneracy and assorted geekery – from getting his first television in years to trying to figure out why the @$@$&@@ you need two goddamn directional pads just to walk down an effing hallway.
Rookie of the Year: Who Wants Their Girlfriend’s Mother To Be A Millionaire?
The following is the latest in a series of journal entries chronicling the author’s descent into next-gen gaming degeneracy and assorted geekery – from getting his first television in years to trying to figure out why the @$@$&@@ you need two goddamn directional pads just to walk down an effing hallway.
Rookie of the Year: A Fine Line Between Success And Failure
The following is the latest in a series of journal entries chronicling the author’s descent into next-gen gaming degeneracy and assorted geekery — from getting his first television in years to trying to figure out why the @$@$&@@ you need two goddamn directional pads just to walk down an effing hallway. I’m writing to you today as a simple gamer, with a simple dilemma: What happens when you’ve achieved everything you can in a game, save for its one final challenge – and that challenge is so tedious, so time-sucking, that achieving it actually makes you feel bad about yourself?
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