90% of the things I've done in my life ain't as important as you sweeping that floor, or you sitting there eating your sandwich. You know why?

Okay. I'm going to use this blog responsibly, for what it's intended for.
Here's the first chapter of a novel I'm working on. Now, there isn't any reason you should read it, and there's even less of a reason that you should like it, but here it is

Chapter 1: Heaven Collapsing Under So Much Joy.

I don’t want to get emotional about this so I will tell it as plainly as I can.
There’s this car, maybe you have this car. Maybe you’re reading this book, about this car, in one of these cars.
If I told you which one you’d be like ‘no way, get outta here!’ It had an advert with a famous song on; a famous actor was driving the car, looking very angry at something. Probably the cup holder, which was very difficult to use and I’m sure made a lot of people angry.
What Car? Magazine called it ‘a solid piece of automotive joy’. Top Gear called it ‘Blisteringly fast’ and said it ‘takes off from the traffic lights like a ferret up a trouser leg’. If you watch a motorway for any longer than a minute, chances are you will have seen one of these cars.
It was very important to my mum and dad that they own this car. Not just for the ferret thing mentioned above, or the fact that everything seemed to have a heater in it, which could be counteracted by an air-conditioning unit that could freeze the sun. It was because they were at That Point in Their Lives where they had The House and The Kids and they could go to France on holiday, all they needed was The Car.
This Car had, and probably still has, a problem with the aforementioned seat heaters that can cause the engine to explode.
Remember that you or someone you know might own this car; you may be reading this book in this car which is in this book.
My sister Sophia and I were staying with friends and my parents had gone for a drive. You should understand that The Car was not only to be used for them to go to work or to get the shopping home, but should be driven in for the pure thrill of driving, like the famous actor on the expensive advert with the famous song playing in the background. This would have been when I was about ten years old and Soph’ would have been two.
This will get complicated but please bear with me.
My parents turned the seat heaters on at around four ‘o clock > The heat built up until five-thirty when it caused part of the foam inside the seat to melt > the molten foam dripped down into the car’s wiring, causing shorts all the way to the battery > the battery showered sparks throughout the engine, igniting everything flammable, which in a car is just about everything. Or, I should say in The Car, because only this particular model has flammable seating foam, or wiring from a Guatemalan sweatshop, or, and this is the most important part, a fuel line that ignites and carries a flame all the way up to the fuel tank.
According to the police, who should know, the car travelled four hundred meters while on fire, with my parents in the front seat. Eventually all the fuel it would have used to keep moving was burning off so it stopped in the inside lane of a major motorway, one you will have probably used if you were travelling to London from the South West. Even though I was told it would have been too late, it still hurts that nobody stopped to help. Firemen only arrived when the blaze was spotted on a speed camera. I really don’t know how bad it was, but I heard that two of the firemen had to do therapy afterwards.
There’s a big blank space around that time, Soph’ doesn’t remember much either. We didn’t have godparents so our Aunt and Uncle on our mother’s side stepped in to be our legal guardians. Our parent’s life insurance, the house we grew up in and the settlement from the car company added up to just under half a million pounds, which was put into a savings account for us. I know this because there are records, I don’t have any real memory of it happening. I also know I went to a school where I didn’t have many friends and didn’t play many sports but got pretty good grades. I know this because I finished school a year early and was done with University by the time I was twenty and the guys I went to school with who played sports and had a lot of friends now open the gate for me at work or change the oil on my car.
I’m going to talk about something that happened to me on a transatlantic flight and I’m sorry to say that the prose is going to get a little flowery. Believe me, this is necessary.
Before Soph’ was born both my parents worked and they had to go abroad a lot. We were flying to Boston, that’s a twelve hour flight and I was about nine years old. The Captain was good enough to let me see the cockpit and explain to me about the alto-meter. He also gave me a small toy plane from a box of small toy planes provided by the company. A few years later I found out that I only got special treatment because they confused me with a boy travelling to Chicago for a bone marrow transplant, but that isn’t really important.
We were four hours over the Atlantic when we hit bad weather and were told to buckle up. This story isn’t about the plane crashing so put that out of your mind. We strap ourselves in to those uncomfortable airplane seatbelts that’ll cut you in half if you hit something.
I had a window seat. That was my parents’ way of compensating me for joining them on their transcontinental journeys. I got see a satellite view of four different continents. So, we’re at about thirty-thousand feet and the turbulence warning gets me interested in what’s happening outside. At first it’s just clouds, like platforms of a 4-D chess set. Then- my dad told me that I started saying there were birds outside. This is one of those childhood memories where half of it comes from your parents. My dad said that birds couldn’t fly this high so I pressed my face to the glass hoping I could prove him wrong.
You see, there weren’t any birds outside. I mean, I’d seen feathers and wings, but the wings were attached to human bodies. I’d been seeing Angels outside my window. They were dead, lying splayed out on the clouds with their swords, shields and spears. There were clouds where whole phalanxes had died together, and others where one or two had died for each meter of imaginary ground gained. There were thousands of these things that don’t exist, lain out in their last moments of life on clouds.
I told my dad that there was a seat out there in the clouds, big as a skyscraper, and there was a guy on the seat sleeping, I guess it was God and I guess God is dead. Or sleeping.

Leave some comments because that's important.

Carving 'P2P' onto a Record Executive's forehead

(pic. The Record Industry, yesterday)

The song playing is 'Blue Flowers' by Dr. Octagon.

To summarise this story on Wired.com: "Record companies...scared of file sharing... record companies think of new ways to make people pay for music."
A total of two sentances are devoted to the most important question: why am I going to pay to download music when I can get it for free?
Ever since Napster first appeared there has been talk of free 'n' legal downloading services, and now we have iTunes and the Nuetered Napster. Now, as Wired's article states these services sold 330 Million MP3s last year. That means that every few seconds somebody out there made a choice between paying money for something or getting it for free... and chose to pay money. That said, 5 billion illegal MP3s were downloaded, and 5 billion is a much bigger number than 330 Million, meaning that legal downloaders are in a minority, like paedophiles and ladies who live with fifty cats.
Record companies need to understand that it is not in their customers best interests to pay for things. Spending money on something that can be yours for free makes no s-s-s-sense. Getting something for nothing happens every day: it's called 'outsourcing', a term for when a the costs from a transaction between two parties (two people file-sharing) is picked up by a third party, which in this case is the record companies. In most cases of outsourcing the third party is the taxpayer (a company pollutes a river and the government cleans it up) so I'm crying a big fuckin' river when those losing out are billion-dollar corporations.
This Wired article (which reached them by way of the Associated Press, meaning its essentially advertising disguised as news circulated by PR firms.) goes on to talk about how Shawn Fanning, the guy who invented Napster, is building a wonderful new piece of software called 'Mashboxx' (because, y'know, The Kids have these like 'raves' called 'mash-ups' and the extra X means it could be porn). The idea is to let record companies deicde on the usage of their songs -their billions of songs- and to let people share concert bootlegs. Now, y'see, I've only got one concert bootleg, it's Dillinger Escape Plan covering a Justin Timberlake song, or half of it is becuase most of the track is taken up by a girl trying to explain the song to her friend: "IT'S JUSTIN! JUST- NO IT'S JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE! TIMBERLAKE! THEY'RE DOING A JUST- WELL BECAUSE IT'S FUNNY OR SOMETHING!". I really can't see this catching on.
Let's go right back to the start: do you want to know how I first discovered the original Napster way back in the day? Well, I read an Associated Press article explaining how record companies were losing money to this trendy new fad but help was on the way from legitimate downloading sites where our Bizarro-selves could pay for songs. And -ohboyohboyohboy- Microsoft is planning to integrate File-sharing software into windows! You know what web-browser I'm using? Not Explorer- but Firefox. You know where my music is coming from? Media Player? Nope, Winamp. Microsoft products are usually in the space between turning a new computer on for the first time and dowloading a better version.
File-sharing isn't going to stop. Wanna know what I did when Napster got busted? I moved onto Audiogalaxy. When that was shut down? I moved into a very long and profitable relationship with Soulseek, whose little blue bird is perched in my system tray as we speak. See a pattern emerging? Every time a P2P system is shut down a bigger and better one takes its place. On Napster I downloading single tracks, with Soulseek I can get whole albums just as easily.
My only advice to the record industry is to give up. Maybe -and this is a crazy, far out idea- if you stop paying Associated Press to write articles on what a terrible threat is posed by Soulseek et al. then maybe you might jsut skim a couple of percent off the number of people downloading. Without the constant press attention P2P would go the way of FTP servers.
I'm Just sayin'.

Proper Respect for Dudes dressed as Gay Insects

Now, I understand that sometimes I may come off a little negative. I assure you that's it's only because I'm a little negative.
Anyway, I thought I'd show some love for The Locust.
Go and buy their albums and stuff.

More blogs of tEh sUck

Hey children!
I've been playing with the 'Next Blog' button again. Every click shows me that my fellow bloggers produce nothing but SOLID GOLD with every keypress.
That is, if you take 'my fellow bloggers' to mean 'you fucktards' and 'Solid gold' to mean Cancer.
Let's look at more of tEh sUck on the interweb:


jkps050


This blog fills me with unimaginable dread. Unit jkps050 writes with the heartless efficency of.... A Machine, spewing forth data like the infovomit of a Regurgamatic 5000. The subject: Our human kickboxing skills.
If, like me, you have devoted many years of study to the fields of robotics you will know that in the event of machines achieving sentience, only by developing our Kick-boxing skills can we humans hope to defeat the robot army, infiltrate their fortress and confront their leader Brainax 9000. Then possibly save some 'babes'. This site presents the terrifying possibility that the Machines may be attempting to gain knowledge on our martial arts skills, making their armies of death-bots virtually invincible, even to Keanu.
Pray for the future of mankind.

Sheepballz inc.

This website MAKES SOME BULLSHIT 'POST-HARDCORE' SONG COME UP ON YOUR BROWSER AND YOU CAN'T FUCKING GET RID OF IT. I don't care if the rest of the blog is DVD quality streaming video of Natalie Portman eating Scarlett Johannsen's asshole, that weak fucking 'screamo' mall-pop bullshit makes me want to kill again. I'm trying to listen to The Stooges, I don't need to hear My Chemical Screaming in a Well on Thursday Sevenfold Theory. I've moved on, and I'm a better person for it. Also, the front end of this site makes it look like the author has a mohawk made of dried blood.

Amsterdam News

After what seems like decades of pressing that bastard 'next blog' button, I have finally found a site that is neither a long stream of URLs nor retarded.
"What picture forms in your mind's eye when you hear the name Amsterdam?" The site asks. Now, I'll admit it isn't so much a picture as the words 'Weed' and 'Whores', with 'and wasn't that the name of Leonardo DiCaprio's character in The Gangs Of New York?' written in small print underneath.
It continues: "Do you think of Van Gogh and Rembrandt? Do you imagine the picturesque canals, criss-crossed by bridges, lined with steepled homes and dotted with quaint Amsterdamers pedaling their bikes? Do you think of the Red Light district, gay marriage, the coffee shops with marijuana on their menus?"
Now that sounds like a weekend: one last dance with paid-for heterosexuality, then off to the chapel, followed by a smoke-out with my new wife Faith No More, Mr. Bungle and Fantomas vocalist Mike Patton. Or possibly Those dudes from The Mars Volta. Yep, sure would be fine to be the beans in their burrito. A Sexual Burrito that is!
The site also features the above image of two dudes making out, to get you in the mood for some same-sex lovin'.

On being a good boyfriend

Now I know a lot of you out there probably have problems building a strong relationship. I mean, you're on tEh 1ntErwEb, how great can your life be? Right? Yeah, you know I'm right.
Hi, I'm G and today I'll be talking you through the finer points of Boyfriending. Ladies, look away because this is just for the fellas!

Step One: Really learning to communicate

The following is a dialogue between me and my special lady Emily, taken from MSN Messenger. As you can see we really have our communication mojo working!

Emily says:
Hey G
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
Hey, what's going on?

Notice that I'm asking about her before I talk about myself.

Emily says:
I found out today that the man who I've had this long running unrequited-love thing with has just gone and got himself a boyfriend!

Hold up there! Now I know that the standard reaction in this situation is to jump up and down, howl as loud as you can and throw your own feces, but remember that there'll be plenty of time for revenge later. Also, girls hate homophobic men, so remember to act like you like gays or something.

Terr0r_Fabulous says:
Hooray for him
Emily says:
I guess
Emily says:
a shock for me
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
Yeah whatever. I really want to bring back that phrase 'Bully for you'. Isn't that a great phrase?
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
But anyway, do continue

See me giving her cues to continue? That's some real communicating there folks!

Emily says:
that's it, that's the whole story
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
Oh.
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
So you didn't see them like making out and junk?
Emily says:
nah
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
'cos sometimes its okay for guys to make out with each other. It's call doing it 'on the down low'.
Emily says:
yeah, I heard about that from you before
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
So if like I was making out with a dude, like a really muscular dude and I felt really safe with him and it wasn't like we were gay or anything but when we held each other in our arms we just felt something we knew we would never find with a woman, that would be okay
Emily says:
does he have to be really muscular?
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
Uh, yeah. And there's a fireplace too. We're making out by a fireplace
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
I mean. Hypothetically.
Emily says:
does it involve Mr.T like last time?
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
Nah.
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
His name's Stefan and he's a Ski instructor. There's a blizzard outside and we're the only two people left in the lodge. We get to talking and eventually come to discussing our fantasies, and he, blushing admits he always wondered what it would be like to gay off with another dude. Then, under the candlelight we embrace, tenderly at first. We savor the feeling of each others stubble, the taut mass of fiborous manhood that lay waiting beneath our clothes.
Stefan is the first to remove his shirt. His body had been sculpted by seasons on the ice- I feel almost embarassed as I remove my silk gown, but the kiss he plants on my chest has me instantly reassured.
We love like boys at first, like two young Spartans trying out new wrestling moves. It is only after he gets me on my front, my face warm against the bear-skin rug, that we understand what it is to love like Men.
Emily says:
you want to know if that would be okay?
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
Yeah
Emily says:
okay with who?
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
Society
Emily says:
I don't see why not
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
Just wanted to clear that up
Emily says:
might not be okay with me though

You can see she's really starting to open up at this point.

Terr0r_Fabulous says:
It's a really bad blizzard we're stuck in
Emily says:
yeah, but you're not going to die?
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
No. Stefan straddles me, a single finger tracing a path down my spine, past my buttocks and finally, inside me. First one, then two. It feels at once agonising and glorious, a pain I had missed for twenty-one long years. He does not hold back when he finally penetrates me, and though I gasp I don't want him to. I want to enjoy every thrust of his tanned, Latin hips. And I do.
When he is spent I lie him on his back and pull his knees to his chest, taking my time almost as a contrast to Stefan's pure, animal ferocity.
For hours that stretch out into days that stretch out into eons we are every man who has ever loved another; we are Alexander and Hephaestion, Oscar Wilde and Robert Ross, Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassady.
It is the following morning, after the blizzard has died and the juices he fired freely over each other's faces and chest have dried into flakes, when Stefan spots a young deer outside. Feeling as though no act could ever satisfy our vast appetites we take the deer and-

*This post has been edited for content by blogspot.com. The six-thousand words removed violate site policy and the laws of most nations. Please refer to our Terms and Conditions document for details*
...Yeah but anyway this is a *totally* hypothetical situation which in no way happened that one time when I went to Austria.
Five minutes or so passed after my post, so long in fact that her status switched to 'Away'. Then it hit me: she was obviously so pleased that I could share my feelings with her so fully and eloquently that her female mind was overcome and she was rendered unable to type! Mission accomplished guys!
A few minutes later I see her status change to 'available'- time to get back to some more caring and sharing!

Emily says:
Hi whos this?
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
Just your sweet hunk of manness here. Definitely not masturbating.
Emily says:
This is Emilys sister she's in the bathroom throwing up
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
She's not pregnant is she? 'cos if she is I'm coming over there with a knitting needle
Emily says:
Wot!?! :(
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
Y'know. To like knit the baby a sweater. Yeah.
Emily says:
Oh ok! :) i dont think shes pregnant I bet its our mums yucky casserole! ROFL!!!!1!!!!!11!!
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
Yeah. LOL and stuff. So what are you wearing?

Girls LOVE to talk about clothes. Plus, when they tell you what they're wearing, you can picture it in your head and beat off into a grey gym sock. Two birds! One stone! It's logical thinking like this that makes Men the best gender ever!

Emily says:
???????
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
I really like your sisters nice soft hands. Do you use a moisturiser?
Emily says:
Sometimes.
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
I think Emily keeps a jar by her desk, see if you can find it.
Emily says:
Found it!
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
Ok. It puts the lotion on its skin.
Emily says:
Wot?
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
It puts the lotion on its skin.
Emily says:
?
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
It puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again.
Emily says:
Okay I put some of the lotion on now what????
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
It puts the lotion back in the basket.
Emily says:
Wot basket?????
Terr0r_Fabulous says:
It puts the lotion back in the basket or else it gets the hose.

She didn't reply- time to take the inititive!

Terr0r_Fabulous says:
PUT IT IN THE FUCKING BASKET OR I'LL SLIT YOUR FUCKING THROAT!!!!
(Emily has logged off)

So you see guys, there really isn't any greater reward than honest and open communication with your special someone. Except perhaps being spared the wrath of Cthulu when he rises from the depths to devour mankind.

Stay tuned for more great relationship help!

Hello Neighbor! - it's other people's stupid blogs!

I've been having a lot of fun using the 'Next Blog' button. That is, if by the last sentence I actually meant 'pressing the 'Next Blog' button has destroyed what little faith in humanity I had'.
"ROFL!"
Here are some of the worst offenders:

Belmont Park Odds Live Horse Racing Betting Odds Triple Crown 2005

This site, which I believe has something to do with betting on horses begins with the hauntingly beautiful introduction: betting wagering horse racing bet giacomo belmont park belmont park racebook odds online belmont stakes betting belmont park offtrack betting online belmont stakes betting bet on belmont stakes online belmont stakes betting bet the belmont betting off track belmont triple crown betting belmont stakes horse racing wagering triple crown horse racing gambling belmont stakes racebooks race track gambling betting horse racing belmont stakes triple crown betting horse betting, which I find to be almost Joycean in its linguistic inventiveness. Further down we see more evidence of literary genius in a lenghty and baroque interview with 'Dalton Wagner, Founder V.O. Group, S.A.', which at times recalls Pynchon at his most obtuse and the imagined horse-racing worlds of a young Jack Kerouac.
Overall I give this site:

Mickey Rourke.

mymiamidirectory

More genius in blogspot! mymiamidirectory (like the genius art-hip-hoppers on Oakland's anticon records it's all lower-case!) effortlessly deconstructs late consumer capitalism with its droning, repititive paragraphs promising information on golf clubs and yatching in the art-deco inspired metropolis. Like the culture it parodies it promises so much but inside its sheer minimalist layout lies so little.
This magnificent site deserves a score of:

Minnie Driver.

mike=gay

This is one of my favorites. Again using the lower-case only method, 'phatty' (possibly a psuedonym of literary wunderkind David Foster Wallace) crafts a powerful story of the eponymous 'mike' who is, if I may take an extended quote comprised of 3/4 of the work, "gay with his fat friend". Where this literary masterwork, still in its early stages, will lead only time will tell. The author has taken a bold step in telling the story of confused teenage homosexual 'mike' from the point of view of the clearly retarded 'phatty', a technique that echoes Jonathan Saffran Foer's Everything is Illuminated while deftly sidestepping Foer's more crassly commercial leanings.

Overall: Sylvester Stallone.5

Nobody knows what to do to guys like him in prison.

The song playing is 'Imodium' by Nirvana.
I guess everybody's heard he Michael Jackson trial results by now. He won, by the way.
Now, I don't know the guy, I didn't watch the Martin Bashir documentary and I haven't heard any of his music since I grew hair on my arms.
Despite all of this, every fibre in my being wanted him sent away. Not so much for justice, though like anybody I think child abuse should = prison and a new definition of 'abuse' from the the combined Crips/Bloods creative sodomy group. I wanted him sent away purely as a social experiment, Zimbardo style. I wanted to see a guy who had a theme park in his garden cope with prison life. Would he kill a guy or become somebody's bitch on his first night? Would he join with one of the black gangs or could he persaude the Aryan Nations to forgive and forget? Would he do a Johnny Cash style prison album? Get tattoos? Do you think he'd be thrown into General Population or go to Club Fed' with the Enron guys? How many guys would he shank? Ten? Fifty? Could he break out? Maybe go on the lam to Tijuana and spend the rest of his days sipping Daquiris by the pool with Osama Bin Laden and the black JFK?
Michael Jackson gets my best review score ever:

Matt....DAMON!

Perhaps you had better start at the beggining

Okay. Let's do this thing.

The music playing is Astro Creep 2000 by White Zombie.
It's 4.43pm and out my window I can see two trees, a hedge, and another person's house. The house is on Gainsborough road, one step up the estate's hierarchy. Moving there, or even further into Blackberry Lane, means you've transitioned from Middle Class to Upper Middle class. It's sunny, the sky is blue streaked with jet plane exhaust. Elmore Leonard says not to open a story with the weather.

I've signed up to this blog primarily to keep my friends informed while I'm off around the world doing what little I do. Whether it evolves into something different or better is entirely up to me. Maybe you'll get some pictures, maybe music, a short story or two. I've decided to allow feedback, though I'm sure it will be mainly 13-year-old kids from Nebraska posting textshite like 'OMG UR such a fag!!!11!!1!!!! ROFL!!!11!!!!!', as is their heathen custom.

The ratio of literacy to illiteracy is constant, but nowadays the illiterates can read' - Alberto Moravia.

The (or, in accordance with interweb custom 'tEH') first order of business is for me to accept ideas from you, the public, on what I'm supposed to do. So, I want items to review (books, albums, movies, haircuts, countries, your wardrobe, potential sex partners etc.). All items, regardless of form or context, will be judged along the lines of Availability, Graphics, Sound and Gameplay, followed by an Overall. It is with this in mind that I present my first review:

Logical Positivism.

Availabiltiy

In a word: Poor. The Logical Positivist school of philosophy was originally formulated by the Vienna circle, who met on a weekly basis between 1922 and 1936. This meant that I was unable to find a copy to rent at Blockbusters.
This recording I made of the conversation between myself and a Blockbusters employee should shed some light on the appalling absence of Logical Positivism from even the most well stocked rental chains.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for Logical Positivism."
"It's not on the shelves."
"No, it's a formulation of the Vienna school that holds that philosophy should aspire to the same rigor as science."
"Okay. Right. Who's in it?"
"A.J Ayer."
"Right. Have you looked in documentaries?"
I gave the employee a ten pound note for his trouble. As a rule I tip at 15%, but as our conversation neither contained nor warranted an economic transaction, I was forced to wing it.
Unable to find Logical Positivism on the shelves, I settled for a copy of Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas.

Graphics

Logical Positivism uses essentially the same Grpahics engine as its predecessors, GTA Vice City and GTA3. While hardly spectacular they do a good job of rendering the grafitti encrusted streets of Los Santos and the jaw-dropping neon vistas of Las Venturas. Pop-up becomes a problem, especially during the flght sections where the engine is forced to render a large number of objects.

Sound

Spectacular. As with most European philosophical schools, Logical Positivism features multiple radio stations (Radio Los Santos for Gangsta rap, SFUR for German techno) with frequently hilarious radio banter. News reports of your actions heighten the authenticity, and really give a sense that only verifiable statements can be considered meaningful.

Gameplay

This was confusing.
Logical Positivism casts the player as 'CJ', a retired gang-banger who returns to Los Santos after his mother's untimely death. The plot is epic in scale, and a simple paragrpah could never do it justice. Throughout the game CJ will have to battle with corrupt cops, Latino mobsters, Triads and presumably in later levels Karl Poppers 1934 book Logik der Forschung, though I was unable to get past a quad-bike chase with hoods who I believe were Rudolph Carnap and Otto Neurath.

Overall

A statement can be said to be verifiable only if truth can be conclusively established, also the prostitutes rarely put up a fight while I beat them to death with a golf club on a busy street in broad daylight. Hopefully this will be fixed by the PC version.

Final Score: Kevin Spacey