Part 2: http://www.teamliquid.net/blogs/viewblog.php?id=271998
Part 3: http://www.teamliquid.net/blogs/viewblog.php?id=281817
Part 4: http://www.teamliquid.net/blogs/viewblog.php?id=283221
Sunlight somehow managed to break through the old bath towels I had erected as makeshift curtains and rudely wrested me from my snoring, asthmatic slumber. Another day. I lay on my back, eyes closed tightly, refusing to acknowledge daytime’s intrusion. A long, involuntary yawn escaped me and caused my additional chins, each hidden behind several weeks’ worth of patchy growth, to wobble and brush against the region that had, at one point in time, approximated a neck. Underneath my Naruto bed sheets, my hand found its way into my boxers and gave my morning wood a cursory examination. Playtime was cut short, however, when from down the hall came my mother’s shrill voice, “Are you awake, honey?” Agitated, I gave an indiscernible grunt of recognition. “What?” she asked, as if my answer could possibly be noteworthy.
“No!” I bellowed, despite the obvious falsehood that implied.
“Gah,” I muttered to myself, any interest in my now shrinking manhood thoroughly dissolved. I finally forced open my heavy eyelids and immediately regretted the decision. It seemed that the thumbtacks holding the towels over the window had faltered during the night, exposing me to the deadly radiation of our nearest star. I told mom to buy duct tape. God, she always forgets when I tell her things. After a few moments of squinting, my eyes adjusted themselves to the foreign and unwelcome sensation of direct UV rays.
I peered down the length of my bulky body and brushed what appeared to be a few stray crumbs from the tangle of man boob and chest hair that makes up my torso. Wishing to be anywhere else but awake in bed at this ungodly hour, I sighed. I found my hug pillow and squeezed it tight.
Oh Sakura, you'll always be my waifu.
After a moment of caressing, I sat up, swiveled my massive legs over the side of the bed and planted two pudgy pinkish feet on the floor with a thump. I didn’t feel much like clothing myself that day, so I decided to skip directly to the internet. On the way to my computer desk I managed to knock over the pyramid of empty Mountain Dew cans I had erected in lieu of throwing them in the garbage. I kicked them over to a pile of dirty laundry in the corner of the room for mom to deal with later.
My dilapidated office chair gave a distressed creak as it adjusted to my weight. I rolled it closer to my desk and switched on the monitor. The clock on the taskbar informed me that it was 3:42 PM. To clear space for my keyboard and mouse, I knocked some more soda cans to the floor. Luckily, I caught the one which still had some liquid in it from the previous evening before spilling it everywhere. I gulped down the rest of its flat, but still sugary contents to correct my mistake. Close enough. I had to pee, but instead of walking down the hall to the bathroom, I decided to spend an hour looking at pictures of cats. Finally, the urge to urinate became too great and I decided to use the opportunity to leave my desk and take care of my daily maintenance.
I lumbered my half-naked body to the bathroom and relieved myself. I decided not to shower—I had done so only just one week prior—but I did take a moment to examine myself in the mirror. I noticed only a few spots of acne today. My neckbeard was of adequate length and not yet long enough to be itchy. My long hair was greasy, but that suited me fine, as it kept the strands out of my face. I slicked it back into a sort of natural pony-tail. Looking good. Satisfied, but realizing now that I was hungry, too, I made the trip downstairs and into the kitchen.
We were out of ramen, so I looked in the freezer for something else. I found a new package of Hot Pockets and thank fucking God they weren’t the Ham and Cheese type—I keep telling mom not to buy those, but she never listens—they’re disgusting. I don’t care how low in fat they are; they barely qualify as edible. How do these things even pass FDA inspection? I’m pretty sure wood pulp is fat free, too, but I don’t see squeeze bottles of it lining the frozen foods aisle. Seriously, who eats this shit?
Hot Pocket noobs, that’s who.
I chose a pair of the vastly superior calzone-flavored Hot Pockets and assembled their little foil sleeves before popping them into the microwave. After a few minutes of rotating, they were sufficiently heated and my combination breakfast/lunch/dinner for the day was complete. For a beverage, I grabbed a 2-liter bottle of Mountain Dew from the refrigerator. A paper towel served dual purposes as both a plate and a napkin and I tentatively nibbled on one of my piping hot treats on the way back to my room.
After finishing my meal and perusing some more cutely-subtitled feline photographs, it was time to get to work. I loaded up Starcraft 2, logged in, and checked my profile. 910 random wins. I had almost reached my goal! Flabby cheeks spread in a wide smile as I clicked the find match button. Quickly, I was matched against the first scrub available. I sent my workers to his base and he, being a complete nubcake, died, called me a homo, and ragequit. I told him I hope he stops playing forever and laughed heartily. That shit never gets old.
The day was off to a great start. I took a few screenshots so I could impress my internet friends with them later; that kid was really mad. The next guy I rushed proved to be slightly less of a retard, and he managed to defend my attack. I left the game like usual, but he decided to send me a message after the game calling me a noob. In response, I typed out a few sentences curtly explaining why he should kill himself and in what manner. What an idiot.
This went on for several more hours, interrupted only by a few bathroom breaks. I slowly came nearer and nearer to my goal. Finally, I was one game away. Just a single game. This one will probably take forever, I noted to myself. Nothing good ever happens to me. I got into a game against a Terran opponent on Shakuras Plateau, and the noob lifted off to the spot behind the destructible rocks. I told him that he was a fucking dipshit and should just leave, but of course the moron didn’t listen. God, these bronzies, man. Some days it’s just too much. Being Protoss, I teched up to warp gates and warped a few zealots into his shitty little base. Naturally, he lifted again. He seemed to think that the middle of the map would somehow serve as a good hiding spot, though, so I built a bunch of stalkers and killed his dumb ass. Victory at last!
Over the score screen it showed up. All I had worked for. Now people could finally see how awesome I was. They could see it in the form of the motherfucking pandas on my buildings.
Whatever the hell this is supposed to be is kind of cool, too.
Months of work grinding games had finally paid off. Basking in my success, I took some time to think about all the games I had played up to this point, and how many I had left to go. Hah, stupid bronze leaguers, I thought to myself. Couldn’t make this shit up if I tried. I’m so beastly.
Pleased with my progress, I decided to browse my hidden hentai folder (I put it in c:/games—it’s not like mom would ever find it anyway) and rub one out before I went to bed. I would write my awesome blog about how great I am the next day.
Part 6: http://www.teamliquid.net/blogs/viewblog.php?id=304674