Disclaimer: The opinions expressed within this column are those of the participants and the moderator, and do not neccessarily reflect those of the GIA. There is coarse language and potentially offensive material afoot. Oh, I'll play your game, you rogue. Don't say that I didn't warn you.

Occasionally I try to think of new ways to keep the column fresh and interesting. For example, the time that I decided to have a "free form column" and neglected to reply to any of the letters which I posted. Unfortunately, you godless philistines were completely incapable of appreciating the subtle beauty of the statement that I was trying to make, and did nothing but send me letters with sarcastic comments along the lines of "Hey, dude, where's your replies?"

But I digress. Naturally, I'm not one to be easily deterred. I continued to rack my brain for stimulating new ways to inject a little artistry into this dull and lifeless column. I thought about taking a note from the cinema, and having the entire column narrarated by a toddler who spoke in the voice of a 40-year-old man, but could only be heard by other children. Unfortunately, it occured to me that anyone old enough to read this column would no longer qualify as a child, and would as such think that this was another attempt at a column devoid of my wit and edge.

So I returned to the drawing board. After several hours of sketching stick figure comics, another fantastic idea dawned upon me. I could have my alter-ego occasionally interject his wacky, non sequitur comments throughout. But then I slipped on the toilet while trying to hang a picture, and the perfect idea occured to me: I would print a bunch of letters, and then I would reply to them with either humorously witty and/or insightful and opinionated responses. I'm smart'un.

I know exactly what you mean. After all, I came close to finishing Xenogears, despite the fact that I never enjoyed a single damned minute of it. It was painful, let me tell you. More than once the thought of using it to replace my rear brake pads occured to me, but I pressed on. Fortunately, I was informed that the ending featured naked male rear ends, and was spared any further emotional trauma.

Trying to exclude you from our family of readers is all a part of the plan, Gladius. Haven't you read the mission statement any time lately? You've got a lot of nerve, sending me a letter without even taking the time to read each and every last page on this site thoroughly in a vain attempt to find something pertaining to yourself, do you know that?

But talk is cheap. I'm not a man of idle threats and hollow words; I've taken the liberty of subscribing you to The Chain Letter Enthusiasts Club.

I was just checking out the piss stain running down your pant leg; don't get creepy on me here.

I'm sorry, that was a bit harsh. Ian, you've always been a good sport, no matter how many times I've mocked your opinions or answered you in a curt, sarcastic manner. You were there for me when I needed someone to loan me 1.6 million dollars to buy a house in suburban New York so that I could support my wife in her upcoming Senate campaign. When I needed an accomplice in order to pull off that payroll robbery aboard a moving train, you were the first to offer your aid. And for all of that, I think you're deserving of a big, juicy Sexalicious Award.

Avoid tracking the Sexalicious Award down to its secret warehouse hideout and burning it to a cinder for getting a bit fresh with your children, as it will undoubtedly come back to haunt the little tykes in their dreams. Also, be careful not to call the Sexalicious Award names, as it has a nasty habit of turning around and solving puzzles which open up the gateway to Hell just to spite you.

That's funny because it isn't me.

I was genuinely wondering what the child was saying during the tail-end of that commercial since the moment I first saw it; it was beginning to gnaw at me. However, you've done gone and put my mind to rest with your translation. Do you know what that means? It means that we're just going to have to have two Sexalicious Awards given out in a single day, that's what it means.

Remember, the Sexalicious Award is a jealous god; don't let it get anywhere near another one of its kind, or all Hell is guaranteed to break loose. Or your money back, of course.

I'm glad to hear that you've found an additional way to reap enjoyment from the greatest piece of marketing in the history of mankind. The Chu-Chu Rocket commercial is just a gift that keeps on giving. Forget diamond rings; men should propose to their loved one by popping open a laptop with the Chu-Chu Rocket commercial running in a window. Hell, they should design a piece of technology created specifically for the purpose of playing it at the press of a single button.

Imagine all of the bloodshed and agony that could be done away with. For example, two rulers of opposing countries which have long been in a tense deadlock, on the very brink of war, get together and begin to argue their sides. Soon, they're at one another's throats, screaming and bellowing with their arms flailing madly about. Just when it seems that all is lost, a wise aide holds up the Chu-Chu-Viewer 5000, bringing a smile to both men's faces. They begin to chuckle, and realize that they have more in common than they'd given due credit. And many lives are spared.

Elated, the people of both countries come together in a joyous song of harmony, and then run off to burn down a few rainforests and give birth to a few billion more children together. It puts a tear into my eye just thinking about it.

I was always partial to Captain Falcon, myself. Nothing relieves stress quite like letting loose with a Falcon Punch right into the face of one of those smarmy little Kirbys. It's damned near orgasmic.

Your friend is obviously some kind of Communist. You should have his red ass deported before his vile ideology begins to spread, turning our fine nation into a country of flesh-drones and mindless worker bees, carrying out the tasks of Satan himself.

I'd love to go back to the 50s. The Salem Witch trials were nothing; all that you had to do was accuse your neighbor of being a Communist, as he hadn't returned your grill within 3 days, as promised, and it was directly to jail, do not pass go, for him. Of course, then I probably would have run into the school bully and set a zany stream of events into motion which would cause my parents to avoid their initial meeting, and erase myself from existence. That's always a pain in the ass.

Closing Comments

Okay, everybody, gather 'round. It's that special time of the day where I designate a topic of discussion for tomorrow's column. And here it is: what do you think of Ogre Battle 64 thus far, from what you've seen and read? Additionally, do you think that it will be able to boost the N64's sagging sales over in North America? Go ahead now; it's a complex topic, but I'm confident that you sweet, sexy things can handle it.

-Drew Cosner