Gamers or SEX GODS?
Well, the results of my semen article were published in last week’s Observer. Apparently, some weren’t too happy with my findings. The agitated victims, whom I referred to as chronic masturbators, are also known as the gaming club.
I decided to reach out and apologize to this advanced group of Trekkies and Lord of the Rings fans by attending one of their meetings.
Now I have been to many brothels in my day, but none hold a candle to the Rutgers Newark Gaming Club. I mean who else could master the art of love making while performing an animality plus a fatality while freezing their opponent in Mortal Kombat.
Poon rained down from the heavens like that of a monsoon unleashing a deluge upon the unsuspecting land below.
When I had called them chronic masturbators I had no knowledge of these all out sex fests that occur at their meetings. That is why I duly apologize to them.
Apparently, women find the aroma of decrepit pizza and the ability to have memorized all the back-stories of each player in Tekken highly arousing. The fact that they call their mother’s basement the fortress of solitude is down right irresistible.
I was amazed and left speechless as they obliterated me in some old school genesis games. It seemed with every A B combination, the chicks that were there became more aroused with each drop of the 32-bit blood.
I thought that it stopped there, but no my friends there was more. In the back were the true masters of their crafts. They had a special room for the experts in each of their respective fields. I met John, who was the Duke of role-playing games. Then I met Bobby, who was the Wizard of Madden. Last, but certainly not least, I met Jacob the Dumbledore of Quaker Gaming.
There was more, but I just could not keep up. These men had the women of their choosing; literally, women were lined up and these masters can choose them like slaves. Each gaming god overlooks every feature, making sure that they are rewarded with the prime pick of the lot. One woman, in an effort to entice a male, pasted Mega Man pictures to her nipples. It was quite crude. Another one had a joystick coming out of her well...children read this paper so you should know where it was coming out of.
I simply bowed to these gods of pure and utter SEX that they were. I was blinded by there sheer brilliance.
How dare I, Anthony Diaz call them chronic masturbators? How foolish and blinded I was for they are lords of the vagina, kings of the art of kama sutra, and deacons of something or another. Ah, twas an experience I shall never forget, but wait what is the title of this column; yeah…that’s right, Weird and Probably Not True. HA!