From the Science Fiction File comes a story so astounding, so unbelievable, readers will treat it with the same skepticism they do Shawn’s braggadocio about endless romantic contests during his time among the Tamil rebels in Sri Lanka, and rightly so.
But, as in those rare times where Shawn is not lying through his teeth to us about bare-chested romance among the tse-tse flies of Darkest Africa, this time truth is more astounding than fiction. Researchers at some no-name university in Illinois (which is a made-up state, like Atlantis or England) have found a way to predict how good someone is at a video game by looking at brain scans, or as I prefer to think of it, sorcery.
This is your brain...
However cool and awesome this finding is, it is not funny, and since we’re in the Year of the Rabbit, I think we need more humor in our lives, especially Shawn, who was such a good sport through not one but two light-hearted jests in this increasingly-misnamed introduction. To that end, I now done my Science Fiction Writer cap (it is shaped like loneliness and bad characterization) and predict what University of Narnia Illinois researchers would find if they were to brave what even demons do not dare and peer in the Lusipurr.com staff’s brains. (Nota bene: the order was chosen by post date, not how much I dislike everyone).
SHAWN
Most of us know him as our lovable non-employer, because he makes us work, keeps us to a grueling schedule, and then does not pay us. Besides sending the occasional irate e-mail about proper formatting and management of the image database that we all disregard with extreme prejudice, behind that noggin of his pulses a squamous and hideous appendage known as his brain. Fueled by arcane electrochemical processes, this hive of madness hides what has been called a very measured brain that should be writing for some thoughtless rag called The Economist.
But what lurks beneath its cephalic curves? Upon gazing at the particolored MRI readout, would they see secret lust after Vanille? Breathless excitement at the unfortunate reality of a Final Fantasy XIII sequel? Unending frustration with my steadfast refusal to play Team Fortress 2?
I hypothesize that were our hypothetical scientists to gaze upon Shawn’s mind, they would be confronted by a rather prim and proper British gentlemen having a tavern sup and a spot of tea, railing against Irish literature and anything French.
JULIAN “SILICONNOOB” TAYLOR
But what about our Brother from Down Under, renowned kangaroo wrangler and bonsai koala bear enthusiast? Would there be visions of an army of hoopsnakes and drop bears crossing the trackless depths of the Pacific to unleash their venomous, marsupial rage upon legions of slothful Americans? Visions of Foster’s Beer Fairies floating around pools of endless Foster’s, daintily filling up pitchers of this foamy nectar to drip down the throats of parched bogans everywhere? The violent end of all life on New Zealand by the hands of his conquering army?
Actually, that sounds rather accurate. I am sticking with that.
NATE LILES!!!
Ah, Nate. His reviews are succinct, his tweets boozy, and for some reason he have stickers in his bedroom. Never one to judge, however, I suspect there is more depth to Mr. Liles than his podcast appearances let on.
Behind his brain, I am sure, lurks the heart of an operatic tenor, carefully hidden away by a paralyzing case of stage fright, yet there plain as day for any scientist with a functional magnetic resonance imager to unwrap like a toddler on Christmas Day.
This is your brain on Halo...
GINIA
Like Illinois, Canada is not real, and anyone claiming to be from Canada actually lives in a smallish apartment in Manhattan, where the Bildebergers provide them with Internet access to try to fool the rest of us. Hockey? A complete fantasy. Poutine? Clearly the creation of a diseased mind.
However, Ginia’s façade is nigh-impenetrable, her cover story so completely fabricated. A fondness of old PS1/SNES games. A hankering for fake-bacon. Love of maple syrup lovingly made in hollow trees by magic talking beavers. An idyllic picture, to be sure.
But what of the truth? What really lurks inside Ginia’s mind? I believe that beneath her love of sixteen-bit graphics and MIDI lies a dark and terrible secret… the secret of being a hobbit double-agent. Sure, we may believe hobbits are cute, with their furry feet and immunity to the One Ring of Power, but a creature that eats mushrooms for breakfast? And second breakfast? And elevensies? I do not trust this, dear and constant readers. Only science can save us now by exposing this Shire-born plot.
LANE
I am a well of darkness, a hollow husk of a human being created by the incessant dripping of pure shadow into the pit of my soul. The flesh is merely a veneer that serves to mask the true horror that is the empty, dead, flayed spirit within. I am madness incarnate…
This is how I roll.
That was unpleasant. MOVING ON!
BIGGS
Like /b/ and GameFAQs had a bad love child and threw it off a cliff to die, Spartan-style, Jenifer Biggs blesses us every week with loliteats, loli battle machines, tentacle monsters, and even more disdain for just how fucking odd Japan can be, in ways that I find vaguely unsafe for work, and glad that I read her comments on Saturdays… most days. To peer inside this cel-shaded mind is to glimpse… Shinji Ikari naked and choking Asuka…
Wait, hold on, that was the nonsense ending to Neon Genesis Evangelion! Is this machine broken? Was it the plate in my head? I was told it was non-magnetic. Damn Grays, always lying to me and making me pissed.
There we go. Beneath an encyclopedic knowledge of the variations of “desu” and slightly behind the life-size cutouts of Team Fortress characters is that dry, acerbic wit we have all come to know and love.
IN CONCLUSION!
I look forward to the day when scientific PROGRESS leads us to the ability to actually look into our brains, because I am sure it is more fascinating than my vaguely insulting remarks about everyone. And if the readers feel left out, know that I am filled with nothing but contempt for each and every one of you, except you. You I like.
