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KRAMMER'S REVIEW One of the biggest challenges involved with really hard
gaming is thirst. All that dice rolling, role playing and chip eating
really parches. Fortunately, Jones Soda teamed up with Wizards of the
Coast to release a limited edition line of “Spellcasting
Soda.” Follow this link to see for yourself: http://www.myjones.com/
Let’s be honest here – this is pretty fricken
sweet. They hand make the custom labels in classic over the top D&D
fantasy art fashion. My favorite flavor is Dwarven Draught. Sure it
is basically, I mean exactly, root beer, but the label is fucking
awesome. Check it out: How tits is that? Answer – really tits. Other favorites include the Potion of Healing and Illithid Brain Juice. It is the perfect combination of sugared beverage and hardcore fricken dork. In a world constantly trending towards niche marketing, this shit takes the cake. Seriously, check out some of these bottles:
In closing, the Jones “Spellcasting Soda” is
completely, unreservedly and totally endorsed by the Gamehole. |
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ALBERT'S REVIEW In the course of some very hard gaming, I’ve tried two of Jones’ limited edition Spellcasting Sodas: “Sneak Attack” and “Potion of Healing.” Sneak Attack is a nom de plume for cream soda, and the drinking experience is (what I can only imagine to be) like having someone mainline the sugariest sugar directly into my carotid artery. That said, it’s fine—tastes like pop. Potion of Healing is red-flavored and sugar-free, so it doesn’t cause quite the same panic attack symptoms. Needless to say, Jones has done a very good thing by creating soda specifically for gaming, but they still fell short by not making a true healing potion, that would, you know, heal me. The next morning I had my usual post-gaming diarrhea. Pussies. |
RESPONSE FROM JONES' SODA From: The Gamehole Hi Jones Soda, As you've surely already heard, The Gamehole reviewed your D&D soda on our very influential website, TheGamehole.com (thegamehole.com). Overall we are very pleased, but there are a few things you may want to take into consideration when making the next batch. We're not complaining, we only want what's best for y'alls. Game hard, Hello Krammer Thank you for the review. I've passed it on to the good folks at Jones Soda HQ who will be happy to see your work as well. Keep up with the feedback as it is always appreciated. cheers, Ernest Ernest von Rosen President |
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KRAMMER'S REVIEW On the other side of the ledger you have movies that you expect to be bad. And, for obvious reasons, I expected G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra to be bad. Seriously, from the trailer alone you learned that the movie featured a Wayans brother and a terrorist attack on the Eiffel Tower. That combination makes my head hurt just contemplating it. That said, I was caught completely off guard by the complete crapfest that is G.I. Joe. There are too many laugh out loud moments to list here. In brief, it is a thirteen year old boy’s wet dream. There is no discernable plot. It is a rambling mindless mess falling from explosion to chase scene to high tech gadgetry episode. Not since Attack of the Clones, the awful second installment of the Star Wars prequel trilogy, have I seen such stilted and unanimated dialogue. As my friend so aptly stated as we were walking out of the movie, this shit bag would be a perfect candidate for Mystery Science Theater 3000. Shortly after seeing Joe, I exchanged e-mails with my fellow reviewer – see opposite page. The question was whether or not this was the worst movie ever. One of my dozens of pet peeves is the over use of over the top adjectives like “the worst” or “the best.” I believe that it is a function of an over stimulated society which forces people to go nuclear with their adjectives to make sure that their opinion is taken seriously. So, with that proviso said, G.I. Joe very well may be the worst movie of all time and that is saying a lot coming on the heels of another Paramount Studios stinker that should seriously be considered for the same distinction – Transformers 2. First of all, we need to compare apples to apples. Joe is a big budget “summer blockbuster.” So, it would not be fair to compare it to say, Police Academy – Mission to Moscow. To say that the Police Academy franchise had lost some of its luster by Moscow would be a tremendous understatement. They knew it sucked while they were pitching it. Joe on the other hand was a serious project with the hope of big box office returns (sadly realized) and many future sequels (also unfortunately probably true). We have to compare like to like. Some examples that spring to mind of anticipated blockbuster movies the were nearly universally panned are: Battlefield Earth, Waterworld, Street Fighter, Avengers and the aforementioned Transformers. There obviously are many other worthy potentials, but I have actually seen these 5 and so feel comfortable commenting. I can honestly say the Rise of Cobra, at the very least was as bad and most likely worse than any of these. I can at least recall a redeeming moment of some sort in each. At least none of these featured an endless series of stupid fucking flashbacks in a ham-fisted effort to build character story lines.
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NUTSON'S REVIEW
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KRAMMER'S REVIEW For the first time in our storied history, we are reviewing two separate things for the Item of the Month. While Scott wanted to join me in a review of the Watchmen movie, he is not allowed to leave the house after dark so is left to write a review about some sort of baseball tee thing his kid uses. I am sure that will be educational. Moving on. The recently released Watchmen was a highly anticipated movie based on the very successful graphic novel of the same name. In broad strokes I thought that the movie was very good and was faithful to the novel. However, one thing stands out as I reflect on the movie - that is Dr. Manhattan’s big, bulbous, blue, veiny cock. By way of a bit of background, the Watchmen are a group of self-anointed vigilante super heroes. None of these cats have any “super powers” ala X-Men. That is, none except Dr. Manhattan. Dr. Manhattan began life as Jon Osterman later to be scientist Jon Osterman. He was transformed into a blue-skinned super powered being after he was caught in an “intrinsic field subtractor,” whatever the fuck that is. The long and short of it was that he was redubbed as Dr. Manhattan with the power to do just about anything that he wants. In the original graphic novel, Dr. Manhattan was often depicted nude. I checked out an old article in which illustrator Dave Gibbons discussed Dr. Manhattan’s nudity. He stated that he wanted to tastefully depict Manhattan’s nudity, selecting carefully when full frontal shots would occur and giving him “understated” genitals – like a classical sculpture – so the reader would not initially notice it. Consider this example from the graphic novel:
Sure, dude has a blue set of beans and franks, but it is reasonably understated and does not dominate the image. The director of the Watchmen movie, Zach Snyder, apparently decided to go in a different direction with Dr. Manhattan’s hose. Take a look:
What is up with all the ham? The guy’s cock dominates the whole fucking image! And that is my problem – for a movie that was so faithful to the original work, why such a cock heavy departure? Was it for the merchandising potential?
Does Zach Snyder have some sort of deep seated Smurf fetish?(Image 4)
While both of these explanations are plausible, both seem to fall short by way of an explanation for all of the blue hose. So why then would Zach Snyder, the director of other box office hits such as 300, countenance such a weird departure while so faithfully following the original work in most other respects? The answer has to be the box office bump from the gays. Seriously, I remember seeing many an article about how the gay community helped drive the numbers for 300. Why not follow that some formula here? It makes sense that Zach would want to throw this important demographic a bone – a big blue throbbing bone. So, in the end, market forces are to blame for the excessive cock in the Watchmen. Blue slong is the new product placement. Krammer |
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SCOTT'S REVIEW You think that's big check these out:
They are Muhl Balls from everyone's favorite baseball tee manufacturer The Mühl. Also the purveyor's of the popular Muhl Tee: Hop on that Smurfette! Me likey baseball! Me likey baseball! Thank you for your time. Scott |
March 2009
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ROD'S REVIEW Bacon is a wonderful meat. And as bacon enthusiasts, the Gamehole was lucky enough to sample the tasty recipe called The Bacon Explosion at our recent gaming session. Many thanks go to Scott for preparing the treat. It was fantastic. Looks like something out of a horror flick, you say? I would just counter by saying that bacon is the candy bar of meats. Gross, you say? But we are simply barbecue hobbyists who may have taken our love of cured meats to an extreme. Death by sausage? Certainly not. The Rod does not understand what all the fuss is with people blaming a poor diet for all the health problems it supposedly causes. The Rod does not believe in all that hype. Because the last time the Rod checked, bacon does not take a side trip through the heart or arteries as it travels through the GI system. If food is high in fat? Just shit the fat out. Sodium? Just shit it out. Cholesterol? Shit it out. There you go. Problem solved for all you health conscious folks. Now we can all sit back, relax, and enjoy the tastier side of life. Now, can I get that deep fried. |
The Bacon Explosion Time: About 3 hours 2 pounds thick-cut sliced bacon 1 1/2 pounds Italian sausage, casings removed 3 tablespoons barbecue rub 3/4 cup barbecue sauce. 1. Using 10 slices of bacon, weave a square lattice like that on top of a pie: first, place 5 bacon slices side by side on a large sheet of aluminum foil, parallel to one another, sides touching. Place another strip of bacon on one end, perpendicular to the other strips. Fold first, third and fifth bacon strips back over this new strip, then place another strip next to it, parallel to it. Unfold first, third and fifth strips; fold back second and fourth strips. Repeat with remaining bacon until all 10 strips are tightly woven. 2. Preheat oven to 225 degrees or light a fire in an outdoor smoker. Place remaining bacon in a frying pan and cook until crisp. As it cooks, sprinkle bacon weave with 1 tablespoon barbecue rub. Evenly spread sausage on top of bacon lattice, pressing to outer edges. 3. Crumble fried bacon into bite-size pieces. Sprinkle on top of sausage. Drizzle with 1/2 cup barbecue sauce and sprinkle with another tablespoon barbecue rub. 4. Very carefully separate front edge of sausage layer from bacon weave and begin rolling sausage away from you. Bacon weave should stay where it was, flat. Press sausage roll to remove any air pockets and pinch together seams and ends. 5. Roll sausage toward you, this time with bacon weave, until it is completely wrapped. Turn it so seam faces down. Roll should be about 2 to 3 inches thick. Sprinkle with remaining barbecue rub. 6. Place roll on a baking sheet in oven or in smoker. Cook until internal temperature reaches 165 degrees on a meat thermometer, about 1 hour for each inch of thickness. When done, glaze roll with more sauce. To serve, slice into 1/4- to- 1/2-inch rounds. |
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SEAN'S REVIEW I hate to say it, but I was a bit let down by the bacon explosion. Don't get me wrong it was a glorious sight to behold, and getting yourself halfway through hitting for the cycle with just one foodstuff is awesome. However, I couldn't help but think of what could have been. As you will see from the recipe which appears to the right over there, it's really just bacon and sausage with BBQ sauce. I know what you're going to say. "Just bacon and sausage!? Get the fuck out of the gamehole, no seriously, GET OUT!" But bear with me here. It could be so much more. This is Wisco, where is the cheese? I could see some cheddar providing a nice middle layer between the bacon and the sausage, or even somehow worked into the sausage itself. I could even see drizzling some Blue Cheese crumbles and dressing on top of the thing before serving it. On an even simpler level, take a cue from the Hardee's Baconator and just add some bacos to the mix, that stuff could be sprinkled outside and on top of the whole damn thing. How about once you cut it up you bread and deep fry the slices and put them on a bun or even better through the deep fried slices on a stick and you've got a perfect food for the fair. I think you can see my point. Many thanks to Scott for making this mockery too all that is healthy, but I think it's originators missed the mark by just a small margin. This is America goddammit, think bigger! Congratulations to the inventors of the bacon explosion who recently signed a six-figure book deal for Barbecue Makes Everything Better. |
February 2009
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ALBERT'S REVIEW Item: History: Seats: The Good: Not so Good: The Bad: Rock on. |
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KRAMMER'S REVIEW I like to rock. Really. It is well documented. In 1986 at the tender age of 16 I attended my first stadium rock concert – Iron Maiden. In addition to the ferociously pounding live metal, this was my first time personally seeing both marijuana and an El Camino. I may not rock as vigorously now as I used to due to advancing age and general infirmity, (rockers age more rapidly than normal humans – see Keith Richards), but I still manage my share of rocking. Along with an elite crew of fellow gameholers, I recently took in a concert by the biggest and most rad metal band of all time – Metallica. My years of focused rocking have taught me a few things. One of them is to never rock on an empty stomach. To do otherwise would be both stupid and dangerous. As you can see below, I am deep in my pre-concert preparations. I am grubbing a Major Goolsby’s double bacon chee. FEEL THE AWESOME ROCK POWER!
Anyway, as to the concert itself, it did not disappoint. I did notice that some things have changed since I last took in a full on rock concert. The most stark one was that luminescent cell phones have apparently taken the place of lighters for the “ballad” portions of the show. Gay? Fortunately though, I am pleased to report that the rock foundation and undergirding is still sound. There were plenty of non-ironic moustaches, mullets and wrestling shoes present. And, the head splitting volume is as painful as it always was. Mixing with the rock population is always refreshing. It helps to regain perspective and to shed light on some of the more confounding larger social questions such as why handguns are legal and drugs aren’t. Simply put, metal kicks ass. It is great to see that all of the dumbass rock clichés endure. The most important one being the one handed gesture that religious nuts call the “Sign of Satan” (check out this fucked up site: http://www.jesus-is-savior.com/False%20Religions/Wicca%20&%20Witchcraft/signs_of_satan.htm ). As you will learn, the “Sign” is the “Satanic Salute.” How cool is that? | |
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ROD'S REVIEW The Rod has been a metalhead ever since he placed a cassette into a walkman, put on a cheap pair of headphones, and listened to his very first heavy metal album. The skull crushing riffs. The references to death, destruction, insanity, war. The headbanging and volume-induced headaches. That album would influence The Rod in more ways than he ever imagined. That album was Metallica's Master of Puppets. And make no mistake, Metallica are metal gods. Fast forward more than 20 years to Metallica's January, 2009 show in Milwaukee. The crowd was a sea of middle aged men in black t-shirts. A handful of shirtless, head-shaven punks flailed about in the mosh pit, including some short, pudgy, wasted kid aimlessly getting bounced around until randomly falling into to a couple girls at the edge…where he paused to chat them up and get shot down before stumbling back into the pit. I had last caught up with the band by watching the documentary Some Kind of Monster. But the St Anger album was completely tuneless. Frankly I quite paying much attention to them once the black album came out. And before the show I hadn’t heard anything from their new album Death Magnetic. But when I heard Ennio Morricone's "Ecstasy of Gold" from the Good, Bad, and the Ugly, and the band first hit the stage, I knew it would be a night well spent. The highlight of the night was Kirk Hammett’s crushing guitar solo on Ride the Lightning. Granted, the intros to a few songs were piped in off their master tapes instead of played live. But you’ve gotta take advantage anytime you get a chance to see Metallica go through classics like Fight Fire with Fire, Master of Puppets, One, and the final encore Seek and Destroy. |
January 2009
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ALBERT'S REVIEW Greetings Central Waters Brewery,
You might be pleased to know that The Gamehole (www.thegamehole.com) has sampled your Happy Heron beer during one of our gaming sessions. As you are surely aware, The Gamehole holds great stature in many areas, beer sampling being one of them. That said, we would like to voice some concerns. Your website clearly states: "This crisp, zesty American pale is characterized by the sharp bitterness missing in many domestic pale ales. The clean finish and slight fruity notes help make our flagship brew a delightful treat." We would wholeheartedly agree that Happy Heron is indeed characterized by the sharp bitterness missing from many domestic pale ales. But, we would also like to raise the following point: Do you think it's possible that this sharp bitterness to which you refer—the same bitterness that is missing from many domestic pale ales—is missing for a reason? That being, that it would be preferable to stick a sweat-drenched jockstrap in one's mouth than to drink a beer as horrifyingly bitter as Happy Heron? If you will please refer to attached picture, you will see that The Gamehole will ingest nearly anything in the name of gaming, but with Happy Heron we have quite simply reached an impasse. Four of The Gamehole members sampled your beer with the following results: 1. Violent diarrhea, 2. An all-night bout of insomnia due to gut-bomb, and 3. Two bottles of HH being disposed of in the toilet after a single sip. These are not acceptable results, and we hope that you will do better in the future. We will leave you with this piece of advice: There are many areas where "thinking outside the box" and "pushing the envelope" are good product development strategies—say, electronics and car design—but when it comes to edibles, it's probably best to stick to what's been proven to work for millennia. We can only speak for ourselves, but the members of The Gamehole's stomachs and assholes would be oh so thankful. Kind Regards, The Gamehole PS: If anything in the above letter is unclear, again please refer to the attached picture for a less verbose review of your flagship brew.
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Happy Heron Ale
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TANCOCK'S REVIEW Note: this review was written by thegamehole.com’s foreign correspondent Euan Tancock from our Manchester, England bureau. I was jolly well and drinking a pint
at Hydes pub when I noticed they had an American beer called Happy Heron Pale
Ale. Can you imagine – an American pale ale served in Manchester, a city where
bitters have been the mutt’s nuts for 300 years? I had heard that micro brews
were all the rage across the pond, but why drink an American pale ale when the
best bitters like Boddingtons or Harveys Sussex Best are brewed so close to
home?
I was well on my way to getting arse
over elbow when a Yank tart walked in. She noticed that Hydes was serving HappyHeron, which is brewed right in her home town of Amhurst, Wisconsin. I fancied
her accent and thought I sure wouldn't mind doing some badger scratching with her.
When she ordered a Happy Heron I couldn’t risk getting her knickers in a twist
so I told the bartender to make it two. I figured I could choke it down if it
would help me get in her good graces and then maybe later on have a bit of a
how's your father (nudge, nudge, wink, wink). But when the first taste of that
extremely sharp hoppy bitterness hit my pallet, I could not believe that you Yanks
try to pass this shite off as beer. Bloody hell it was nasty.
Fast forward to when I took her to my place – I realized what a terrible mistake I had made. She was snogging my knackers when that Happy Heron started tearing a hole through my stomach all the way down into my arse! Bollocks! I almost had her knickers off but was blowing so many air biscuits that my Yank Posh Spice got up and left straight away! I would have spent the next few hours shagging but instead I was in the loo with a bog roll wishing I could purge that bitter turtle’s head from my arse. I was so buggered and sick I almost called my Mum. Cheerio.
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Copyright The Gamehole 2001Updated on 1 September 2009