Doubtful Dinosaur Musings

The Temporal Bone is connected to the…

Tailbone?

Say what?!?

Dinosaurs are such an enigma.

Perhaps it’s because their bones are like a ten billion piece jigsaw puzzle.

Think about it.

With no helpful assembly instructions for guidance, each type of dinosaur is estimated to have roughly 200 bones.

And with hundreds of different types of dinosaurs…

That leaves a disturbing amount of room for error.

After all, who’s to say we’ve been accurately assembling those prehistoric bones?

When dinosaur fossils are discovered, they tend to be badly damaged, crushed, or warped from the weight of dirt and rocks.

So they may be pieced together incorrectly.

Or the “final” result may actually be incomplete.

In fact, scientists themselves have been known to harbor doubt when attempting to piece those suckers back together.

With strange dinosaur names like Yamaceratops, Irritator, Gasosaurus, and Drinker…

It’s almost like paleontologists are trying a little too hard to divert the confusion.

Which brings us to the Bone Wars, between American paleontologists Edward Drinker Cope and Othniel Charles Marsh.

So fierce was their rivalry in the heated pursuit of discovering and naming new dinosaurs that there was no shortage of bullying, bribery, and flat-out careless errors.

Case in point:

When Cope presented his fossil of a marine reptile called Elasmosaurus, it was discovered that the vertebrae were assembled backward.

The head and tail were also transposed.

So much for any attempt at accurate representation.

Marsh, for his part, was trying to piece together an Apatosaurus.

But it was missing a skull.

So he knowingly used the head of another dinosaur to complete the skeleton.

And the moral of the story?

If it the bones can be crammed together in a way that may or may not properly fit…

Hey, that’s good enough!

When someone is determined or frustrated enough, it’s gotta be so tempting to cram a puzzle piece someplace it doesn’t quite belong.

Especially after spending far too much time puzzling over it.

Take the mighty Tyrannosaurus Rex, for instance.

Take a really good look at it.

T Rex’s disproportionately minuscule arms look like a better fit for a smaller dinosaur, like Triceratops.

No wonder those creatures look so angry.

With stubby little arms and a tail that drags ten feet behind on the ground like a ball and chain, what’s there to be happy about?

There’s also been debate over the years as to whether the Brontosaurus ever actually existed, either.

Who knows?

Anything is possible.

All I know is, if I were to dig in my backyard and unearth dinosaur bones, I’d let my kids try their luck at assembling a new creature.

And then I’d let them name it.

So far, we have several promising contenders:

  • Buttasaurus
  • Boogerraptor
  • Dieceratops
  • Stinkyheadamimus
  • Thunderthighapus
  • Dinkybrainadon
  • Atrociousaurus

The possibilities are endless!

Which brings me to another point:

You almost have to wonder what human bones haphazardly pieced together by the next creatures on earth in fifty million years might look like.

Now, that ought to be interesting.

Nah, there’s no way those weird things with five wiggly digits could possibly belong up there by those goofy funnel-looking thingys…

Oh, well.

Just stick that crap on top that freakishly small skull…

And voilà!

We’ll call it the Peabrainasaurus!

~Happy Friday, everyone! Hope you have a terrific weekend!~

The dinosaur depicted here is most likely the approximate result of assembling bones together, puzzle-style.

The dinosaur depicted here is most likely the approximate result of assembling bones together, puzzle-style.

Blisteringly Ballistic

Swish!

What could be more delightful than a bone-chillingly dreary day?

Why, experiencing the joy of nature on such a lovely day, of course!

Or perhaps more specifically…

Playing basketball outside in freezing temperatures!

With a child whose blatant disregard for my well-being has not gone unnoticed by yours truly.

Did I mention it was astonishingly windy, too?

When there’s finally the teeniest ray of sun poking through the foreboding clouds right before the sun sets, it’s obviously time to wander outside into the frigid air.

Nevermind the fact that it’s chilly enough to guarantee Frosty the Snowman at least one more day of puddle-free existence.

Oh, and thank you, Daylight Savings Time.

Thank you so much.

Your highly anticipated return has provided this wonderful extra hour of daylight.

Which wouldn’t normally be such a bad thing…

Except after a long day, when I’d like nothing more than to convince the kids that the dark sky means it’s clearly time for bed.

Somebody, please tell me why it’s so difficult to force a child to go outside and play on a gorgeous sunny day?

Wouldn’t that be far less painful for everyone?

I guess this must beat shower time.

That’s got to be it.

So there we were.

You wanna go?

You wanna piece of me?

Come at me!

Where you at?

Chop, chop!

Come on!

Show me what you got!

I’ve got frostbite.

That’s what I’ve got.

Wanna see that?

My child seems genuinely intrigued.

So I stuck my hand up his shirt.

My freezing cold, bluish-purple hands.

Ah, warmth!

Gotta keep swimming, swimming…

Or maybe it’s running, running…

Or dribbling, dribbling…

Let me tell ya, cold is a very powerful motivator.

I shot far more hoops than usual that day.

The magic modus operandi?

Bouncing and hopping around like a maniac in a desperate attempt to generate my own heat before succumbing to imminent hypothermia.

Which, evidently, is not a concern for crazy children.

Their sheer insanity keeps them sufficiently warm.

Between hook shots and free throws…

Along with no shortage of illegal elbows, tickles, and fouls…

It was a surprisingly invigorating outing.

Nothing but net.

And frostbite.

Swoosh!

~Happy St. Patrick’s Day, friends! Hope you’re all enjoying a day filled with fun and shenanigans. And corned beef and Guinness, if you’re into that sort of thing. Have a fantastic weekend!~

Nothin' but net! Well, somewhere under those icicles...

Nothin’ but net! Well, somewhere under those icicles…

Spring Break Stupor

Spring is almost here!

Sure, it’s still technically winter.

But it’s already Spring Break.

Ummm…

Yay?

The house looks like a tornado zipped through it.

The laundry is piling up to the ceiling.

And being the unofficial official referee of this crazy clan is taking its toll on me.

Mommy needs a drink.

If this is a preview of what summer holds, I may be tempted to run away with the circus.

ASAP.

What’s that?

Joining the circus is no longer an option?

Damn you, Ringling Bros!

Damn you for not keeping up with the times and taking away that last glimmer of hope.

Sigh.

Don’t get me wrong.

I love Spring Break.

No, actually…

I love some parts of Spring Break.

No homework.

No teacher emails.

No phone calls from the principal.

I’m pretty well convinced we are on the school’s speed dial system.

So yeah, I’m a fan of any type of school-related break.

Besides, sleeping in is always a nice luxury.

Even if it is only until 7am.

Hey, it’s progress.

Anyway…

On Day Oneboth boys managed to land themselves in time out without any electronic privileges.

But then they behaved well enough later in the week for us to actually get out a few times.

And so I found myself going places I’d rather not go.

Like Chuck E Cheese.

Home of the Yuck E Cheese pizza.

That inedibly nasty excuse for pizza always sits in my stomach like a sinking rock.

What’s in that crap, anyway?

On second thought, I’d rather not know.

And then there’s Dave and Buster’s.

Two hours and a zillion dollars later, we walked out of there with our prize:

A Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em game that we could have purchased for $19.99 at any big box store.

But if we stayed home, the whole eating around the clock cycle of fun would’ve continued, à la Hungry, Hungry Kiddos.

Let me tell ya, that gets old really fast.

Between the demands and lack of gratitude from at least one child at any given time, it’s been a most rewarding week.

Get back to school already, will ya?

Spring has not quite sprung…

Daylight savings is about to begin…

And we’re running out of food and sanity.

Wait.

Break’s almost over?

Already?

Noooooo!!!

~Happy Friday, everyone! If you’ve also had the pleasure of being on “break” with kids this week, I hope your sanity is still intact. Have a wonderful weekend!~

Spring Break is fun! Spring Break is awesome! Spring Break is...ugh, never mind.

Spring Break is fun! Spring Break is awesome! Spring Break is…ugh, never mind.

Glamourless Grammar Galore

There, they’re, their.

March 4th is National Grammar Day!

I know you’re all as excited as I am!

Just think – a  whole day dedicated to proper use of grammar!

Grammar Day was created in 2008 by Martha Brockenbrough, founder of the Society for the Promotion of Good Grammar, to promote awareness and understanding of proper grammar.

For the logophiles among us, the Global Language Monitor estimates the number of words in the English language to be approximately 1,025,109.

That’s a lot of words one could possibly mess up.

That’s right.

A lot.

Not alot.

They’re two separate words.

Two!!!

In honor of National Grammar Day, let’s have some fun with grammar, shall we?

grammar23

(I rest my case.)

grammar9

(I completely understand. I feel equally as passionate about this mix-up.)

grammar47

(Hahaha! Get it? Oh, never mind…)

grammar22

(I’m sorry… and you’re welcome.)

grammar48

(People who use commas properly are statistically less likely to be raging psychopaths. Need I say more?)

grammar6

(Off too [sic] funny we go!)

grammar28

(Never underestimate the powerful effect of using proper grammar!)

grammar42

(Sure, it’s a cheap shot, but it can be highly effective. Give it a try!)

grammar4

(Proof that it helps tremendously to be able to distinguish between homophones.)

grammar25

(The difference here may be subtle. On second thought, no. It’s glaringly obvious. Get your words straight if you want to avoid becoming dinner!)

grammar46

(Irony at its absolute finest.)

grammar29

(Likewise, “I’m sorry I hate you” could also benefit from a properly placed comma…)

grammar14

(Yoda is the only creature permitted to speak in such a grammatically disturbing manner. This is due solely to his unparalleled wisdom.)

grammar45

(Grammar is good! Grammar is your friend! Please, for the love of God, use grammar!)

Homophones seem to cause confusion for a surprisingly large chunk of the population.

For instance:

its/it’s, to/too/two, there/their/they’re, than/then, where/were, whose/who’s, apart/a part

Yes, these sets of words do sound identical.

That’s because they’re homophones…

Not because they’re words that share the same meaning and can be used interchangeably at one’s discretion.

Sorry, but it just doesn’t work that way.

Oh, and let’s talk about real words put together to form imaginary phrases.

Would of, should of, could of.

Uh…

Hello?!?

These phrases don’t make any sense!

Do you know why?

It’s because they don’t exist!

At least, not in the world of proper grammar.

(Would’ve, should’ve, and could’ve are the contractions for would have, should have, and could have.)

Now go impress someone special with your inoffensively impeccable grammar skills!

~Happy Friday, friends! And Happy National Grammar Day, for those of you who value proper grammar as much as I do. Have a phenomenal weekend!~

Sanctimoniously Sacrilegious

Chaos.

Calamity.

Arguing, brawling, and squabbling.

All the way to church.

That’s right.

Church.

Once upon a time, my brother and I used to create the most unholy mayhem.

Frequently.

Even at church.

Especially at church.

Evidently, our less than role model type conduct was downright mortifying.

The car wouldn’t even be fully backed out the driveway before we’d initialize our ritualistic slugfest.

Usually, it would begin with one of us discretely cracking an Etch-a-Sketch over the other one’s head.

And things would only get more exciting once we’d exit the confines of the vehicle.

While everyone around us would break into hymns, we’d provide the accompanying music-

Armpit farts.

Not the time or place?

You don’t say.

About to receive Communion?

Good time to get rumbling!

Donation money basket going around?

Decisions, decisions.

Confession time was always particularly challenging.

With plenty to confess, we’d have to keep it vague.

So I’d simply just apologize for fighting with my brother.

But there were definitely things left unsaid.

Then we’d get back to engaging in a few rounds of bloody knuckles, sometimes even throwing in a headlock or two.

We were easily distracted and equally as easily amused.

What can I say?

We were hands-on type of kids.

In the rare moments of sitting still, we’d pray.

Pray for service to end so we could take our free-for-all out to the parking lot.

It’s fair to say we were embarrassing to be around, as we failed to exemplify any holy qualities, in any public setting.

On the positive side, we managed to obey The Ten Commandments.

Mostly.

I mean, at least the most important one-

Thou shall not kill.

And we didn’t kill anyone.

Surely, that counted for something.

But then again…

We were siblings, after all, so there was never a guarantee that wouldn’t change at any moment.

Ultimately, my parents probably considered themselves lucky…

Even if only for the fact that my brother and I never once attempted to bathe or swim in the tub of holy water during Mass.

Hallelujah!

~Hey friends! I’ve got a favor to ask of you. I just set up a Facebook account for Comically Quirky! And I’m on Twitter, too. Please drop by and follow me, and I’ll follow you back! You can leave your links in the comments. Thanks a million, and have an awesome weekend!~

Naughty, nice, and everything in between...

Naughty, nice, and everything in between…

Two Romeos and a Mob of Juliets

Valentine’s Day may be a few days past, but testosterone is still in the air.

Did I say testosterone?

I meant to say, love.

Truly.

At any rate, my two boys have been in full-throttle paramour mode, with the unfettered spirit of Valentine’s Day lingering.

The younger one bashfully leaving anonymous gifts of stuffed animals and chocolate to a special someone before sprinting off in the opposite direction.

The older one brazenly standing outside, waiting for the bus, come hell or hypothermia.

One gifting with presents.

The other gifting with presence.

One shy.

One bold.

Very bold.

With his less-than-subtle, sudden need for fresh air on a rainy, 35-degree morning, it leaves little question to the motives of Romeo Number One.

Every day before and after school, this child stands outside at the bus stop.

Did I mention he doesn’t even ride the bus?

Let me tell ya, this boy has quite the collection of girls.

One minute, he’s going out for ice cream and a movie with one girl.

The next thing I know, he’s talking on the phone for hours…

With a different girl.

And then the next day, he’s eagerly waiting to escort yet another girl to/from the bus stop.

It’s good to have options, right?

Meanwhile, he avidly avoids Stalker Girl, who freaks the hell out of him with her steady stream of obsessively psychotic texts throughout the day.

But getting back to my sweet younger son.

Romeo Number 2 spent the day before Valentine’s Day freaking out over whether to get a card or gift for a certain girl that he thinks he likes.

Did I mention that she used to like him…

Back when he didn’t think he liked her very much?

That’s right.

She liked him first when he didn’t know if he liked her.

And now he likes her.

He thinks.

Which left him with a dilemma.

To buy a card or not to buy?

Or get a gift or give her nothing?

To tell, or not to tell?

Torn between craving the glorious attention…

Or hiding under his desk like a turtle retracting into its shell.

The joys of girl trouble and tween issues. 

It’s soooo complicated.

Both of my boys spend hours each morning in front of the mirror like mini Adonises, getting their hair just right…

All while protesting showers and forgetting to put on deodorant.

Ah, the sweetness of childhood amour.

Paired up with the joy of adolescence, it’s a sure recipe for…

Well…something.

Love?

Romance?

Stinky love?

As in Love Stinks, that song from The Wedding Singer?

Except I highly doubt Adam Sandler was singing about adolescent hygiene.

Teenage lust.

Isn’t it great?

Oh, but it gets better!

Romeo Number One will soon be trying out for School Mascot!

Which is technically part of the school’s Spirit Team.

Which means being part of the Cheerleading Squad.

As in, being the only guy among all those cheerleaders. 

Coincidence?

I think not.

Love is still in the air, and my two Romeos are on the loose.

Perhaps we ought to move to Utah and start a polygamist colony…

Love is still in the air...

Love is still in the air…

Beeping Blasphemy

Nine.

It sounds a lot like nein, the German word for no.

Did you know that the number nine is considered unlucky in Japan?

It’s true.

They pronounce it ku.

And apparently, it sounds exactly like the Japanese words for agony and torture.

Yikes.

Interestingly enough, nine is also the precise number of smoke detectors in my house.

Why would I know this?

Because I’d been running like a crazy person from one end of the house to the other, trying to figure out the source of an intermittent, peace-assailing racket.

That’s why.

Out of the blue, a nefarious, telltale sound echoed throughout the house.

And every thirty seconds, another beep would fill the air.

With nine smoke detectors at large, I struggled to pinpoint the source of annoyance.

It’s like that expression:

Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.

But in this case…

Every time a beep bleeped, I had to refrain from kicking stray stuffed animals and action figures into walls or out the window.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I dashed all over the house, from room to room, in hot pursuit.

Aha!

After locating the offending noisemaker, I dragged a kitchen chair over to the entryway and extended my arm upward.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Even on my tiptoes, I couldn’t quite reach.

So I ran out to the garage and grabbed the biggest ladder I could find.

Beeeeeeep. Beeeeeeeep. Beeeeeeeeep.

The ladder was so freaking cumbersome, I somehow managed to take out a chunk of wall as I maneuvered it through the house like a drunken firefighter, all the way from the garage and down the hall.

Damn.

I’d just finished touching up paint throughout the house a day earlier.

But at last, I could finally reach high enough to smack the button and put a stop to the madness.

The next thing I knew, alarms and sirens screeched in my ear:

Fire! Fire! Carbon monoxide warning! Get out! Get out!

What the hell?

After several minutes of this repetitive ear-splitting command, I managed to wrestle the battery compartment open.

But the dead battery fell out and hit me square in the throat, as I struggled to maintain my balance on the ladder.

At least the high-decibel wailing had stopped.

I regained my balance and crammed a new battery back in before slamming the compartment shut.

And then…silence.

Sweet, sweet silence.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

~Happy Friday! Hope you all have a great weekend!~

This beeping/meeping trio may possibly be the only thing noisier than a malfunctioning smoke alarm.

This beeping/meeping trio may possibly be the only thing noisier than a malfunctioning smoke alarm.

Sardonically Stressed

Stress.

It’s an unfortunate and undesirable side-effect of simply being alive.

Some days, it’s lemons, lemons, and more lemons.

For everyone overwhelmed with stress lately, take heart.

Here’s proof that there’s always humor, even in times of stress:

stress18

(In all fairness, it should be noted that murder is rarely doctor-prescribed.)

stress24

(Are you kidding me? Way to burst my bubble!)

stress34

(I’d be hesitant to attempt this. I mean, what if I cram one down someone’s throat, then Karma steps in and makes them spit it up…straight into my eyeball?)

stress15

(Did you know it takes 45 minutes of meditation to equal the effects of a single satisfying glass of wine? Okay, fine. I just made that up.)

stress6

(A sure sign of mastering ki breathing! Or having taken up drinking…)

stress22

(Is being eaten alive really preferable to a little stress? My guess is probably not.)

stress1

(Finally! A refreshingly drug-free solution that’s both highly effective and easy to use. What’s not to love?)

stress9

(As Henry Kissinger once said, “There cannot be a stressful crisis next week. My schedule is already full.”)

stress8

(Sure, it helps reduce stress…unless you’re prone to perfectionistic, OCD-type tendencies. In which case, coloring can actually increase your stress levels.)

stress31

(Overall, pretty good advice from a dog. But maybe just stick with the walk away part and forget about peeing all over the place. It’s just not classy.)

stress33

(Food for thought, right? Speaking of which…)

stress26

(This might be stating the obvious, but here goes: You should never be your own food source. Never. No matter how stressed you may be, this is a horrible solution.)

stress29

(I’m stressed just thinking about how true this statement is.)

stress38

(This one has become my personal life motto. It makes me happy.)

Throwing things can be great stress relief.

No, really. It’s true!

And if you need some creative ideas for what to do with all those lemons life has been tossing your way, I’ve got some excellent suggestions.

Go on, give it a try!

Feel better now?

Excellent.

Stress?

What stress?

Ain’t nobody got time for that nonsense.

~Happy Friday, friends! Hope your weekend is relaxing, enjoyable, and stress-free. And if it’s not, I hope you always find a way to make lemonade. Or a lemon martini…~

Mortifying Modus Operandi

Don’t embarrass me!

Um, helllooo!?!

I’m not the one sitting there, scratching my crotch at the table during breakfast.

Is it my fault your school requested that parents join their child in class to help guide them through the increasingly intricate course selection process, complete with 4-year plans and endorsements?

What kind of monster do you think I am?

And what kind of horrifying feats do you think I’ll manage to pull off in the 60 minutes I’m there, anyway?

Attempt to spoon-feed you your lunch?

Or show up in fishnet stockings and skanky heels?

Or worse yet, come crashing into your classroom on roller skates…in my pajamas?

Hashtag whatever.

Or perhaps I might discuss puberty/body odor/your latest crush loudly in front of all your classmates?

Or do some sort of ridiculous robot dance while singing a cringe-worthy Justin Bieber song at the top of my lungs?

Or lick your messy desk clean?

Or…

Maybe I’ll just wait for the perfect opportunity to declare:

You got an F on that test? An F?!? That’s it. Mama gonna go all gangsta on yo ass!

Right.

As fun as these scenarios might appear in my mind…

I can’t even.

As a natural introvert, I can assure you I will not be going out of my way to even talk to anyone, let alone cause chaos.

And as a self-respecting member of society, I don’t typically speak like that.

Ever.

Well, except maybe when I’m hangry.

I also wouldn’t purposely embarrass my kids, but ish happens.

Besides, if anything mortifying were to happen, consider it payback for all those unfortunate incidents where I wished for nothing more than the mercy of getting sucked into a black hole.

So just remember this:

I could be worse.

I could be much, much worse.

After all, I’m a badass black belt, dirt bike-riding, humor-writing Mom.

I’m cool AF.

Yaasss, I’m totally killin’ it.

So don’t be salty, bruh!

(Is that a thing?)

~Happy Friday! Thanks for stopping by and slinging some serious slang with me today. Have an amazing weekend!~

It's tough being a teenager. And an adult. Hell, life is rough for everyone.

It’s tough being a teenager. And an adult. Hell, life is rough for everyone.

The Video Gaming Vortex

Some things get infinitely better with time, while other things seem to do the exact opposite.

One thing’s for certain:

Time can majorly mess with dormant gaming skills.

Clearly, I haven’t been playing video games anywhere near enough lately.

I recently discovered that I now totally suck at video games.

It’s true.

I’ve somehow gotten to the point where I now lose frequently… to any and every opponent.

The horror!

Not only have I been playing poorly, but my hands actually ache afterward from the determined death-grip I inflict upon my controller.

But determination alone still doesn’t stop me from losing.

I hate losing.

And more importantly, I’m far too young to be losing this badly.

Whatever happened to the days of being a badass Video Game Master?

I used to rule Old School.

And now?

I am undisputedly the worst player in my house.

Possibly even the worst player in my neighborhood.

Okay, so that may not be entirely true.

Surely, there must be at least a handful of electronically inept 90-year-olds who would do worse.

But seriously, where did I go wrong?

Modern games have become my worst nightmare.

I used to be able to defeat every last Goomba, Koopa, and Hammer Brother in record time on my quest to rescuing Princess Toadstool from that evil jerk Bowser, who had nowhere to go but down.

Down, down, down, into the fiery lava.

Which, apparently, is where all my gaming skills have ended up.

Super Mario Galaxy makes me feel like I’d just downed a few cases of liquor and then repeatedly smacked my head into a concrete wall before hitting the power button on the console.

And let’s talk about Rainbow Road.

Notorious for being a highly challenging level on Mario Kart, it’s only gotten more complicated over the years.

Naturally.

Especially now, with all the nauseating, seizure-inducing graphics that cause me to barrel off into a black hole in a fit of rage from all the flashing acid-trip type effects.

Mario Kart has evolved to the point where it makes me sick to my stomach as I drive my stylishly customized kart backward, off cliffs, and straight into the oblivion of dead-last place.

Don’t get me wrong, all of these incredibly realistic 3D graphics are astonishingly impressive.

They also make me wanna hurl.

I sometimes miss the days of 2D, where I wouldn’t become nauseated from inadvertently spinning myself sick in just a matter of minutes.

I’m naturally bad with directions as it is, so I really don’t need the additional challenge of getting lost for all eternity on a convulsion-inducing level of some infuriating game.

But all is not lost.

Super Smash Bros is one of the few games I do seem to excel at lately.

I suspect this stems solely from the joy of clobbering big bullies like Donkey Kong and Ganondorf with unassumingly cute characters like Yoshi and Kirby.

But even so, there are times when I get embarrassingly decimated by a highly skilled, child-controlled Jigglypuff.

Mortifying, I tell you.

I’m compelled to blame my unimpressive losing streak on my older brother.

Sure, it was years ago, but I firmly believe that always being stuck as the dreaded Player 2 as a child clearly accounts for my overall lack of game playing time.

By the time I’d finally be about to get my turn after watching my brother play Super Mario Bros for 57 straight minutes, he’d be so pissed about (finally) losing a life on level 8-3 that he’d reset the game and start all over.

I usually had to wait until he left the house altogether to even get a turn.

I suppose there’s also the remote possibility my skills have deteriorated due to my penchant for not being able to sit still for very long.

As an adult, there’s always this overwhelming inclination to get stuff done.

No time to sit idle when there’s so much to do!

But surely that can’t be the issue here.

Nah.

It probably has a lot more to do with the fact that kids are practically born with electronic devices in each hand nowadays.

Or maybe I just need to get more sleep.

At any rate, I guess this means it’s time to return to my Old School roots and start playing like a boss again so I can get back to kicking some butt.

Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, Start…

Konami Code, help me!

Mario has kept up with the times. I, on the other hand, have some serious catching up to do.

Mario has kept up with the times. I, on the other hand, have some serious catching up to do.