Girls and...Galaga?

Over the years, hundreds of hobbies have been created specifically to keep girls away from men’s genitals. I have been unfortunate enough to partake in every one of them. The fact that I can tell you the first and last names of all the Cobra Kais and the guys who played them isn’t going to make anyone’s pants spontaneously combust, and I’m never ever ever going to get any girls’ phone numbers because I can get the high score on Galaga.

Or am I?

The more I thought about it, the more it intrigued me. "Is it possible to pick up a girl using nothing but video games?" Most experts say "no." However, after mulling it over and thinking it through, I arrived at a much different conclusion: oh hell fucking no. At that moment, it went from a question that needed to be answered to a challenge that was about to get its ass Tombstone Piledriven.

The laws of nature say that girls usually don’t go for gamers...I decided it was my duty to change that. I developed a plan, and to ensure that it was my video game skills and nothing else that were doing the picking up, I designed three rules:

ONE: I would take $10 worth of quarters, find a video game somewhere, and play it until either the quarters ran out or a girl talked to me.

TWO: I was not allowed to make contact with anyone until they made contact with me first.

THREE: If someone did approach me, the first couple of things I said had to be video game related.


There it is. Basecamp. The original plan was to post up at the Galaga cocktail table machine at Charlotte's all-'80s club at 11:00 p.m. with $10 in quarters and a can of Jolt Cola. Since I got there at 12:15 and they were sold out of Jolt, it became $5 of quarters and a ‘fucking’ Mickey’s Big Mouth.


As you can (sort of) tell by this picture, The Breakfast Club was not what Maverick would call a "target rich environment." The odds were stacked against me. I put in my first quarter and started to play.

Of course, a guy sitting alone in a corner by himself with a camera and huge stack of quarters on the Galaga machine is going to get some comments from people walking by. About 15 minutes into it, people had to come over and get their 2 cents in.

CONVERSATION #1: On their way upstairs, two girls stopped and watched me play.

GIRL #1: Hey, it’s that game. Gal…axian?

ME: Yeah. Do you play much?

GIRL #1: I used to, forever ago.

ME: You see that high score? That’s totally me. I’m not bragging or anything. I’m only telling you that because I know girls go for guys who get high scores on video games, right?

GIRLS: Ha ha ha.

(they leave)

CONVERSATION #2: About 10 minutes later the owner of the bar walked by.

OWNER: You know, people are going to think you’re a nerd if you play that game all night.

ME: Maybe you can tell me what’s nerdy about a hundred and twenty five thousand on Galaga.

OWNER: Damn.

ME: Exactly…

(After he left…)

…bitch.

CONVERSATION #3: About a game and a half after that I thought I had stumbled onto the set of Lethal Weapon 5 when the most hilariously mismatched couple, this hot-as-hell black girl and this stereotypical-in-every-way-white redneck stopped by.

GIRL: Oh shit! It’s that game…uh…Galaxia.

GUY: Damn! I used to play that shit all the time, yo!

ME: You see that high score? That’s all me, but I didn’t want to say that too loud in front of your girlfriend because girls totally go for guys who get high scores on video games.

GUY: I hear you, dog. I hear you.

GIRL: Look! It’s Galaxia!

And that was it. Ten more minutes passed. Then twenty. Then thirty. And much to my surprise, not one girl had hopped up on the Galaga machine and seductively began removing their clothes to, we'll say, "We are the World" like I totally thought they would.



The stack of quarters was getting smaller. The patrons were getting sparcer. The clock was ticking, and another Mickey’s Big Mouth had joined the table.

1:30…what Campbell Scott refers to as "winning time." I was seconds away from dismissing video game skills as a viable way of picking up girls when the first two girls from earlier made a return appearance.

Girls: You’re still playing this?

Me: Yes I am. You guys wanna get in here? I’ve got plenty of quarters.

Of course, the obvious answer was:


And there you have it. At the buzzer. For the next 30 minutes we talked. We laughed. We drank. And my pickup line was…Galaga. Nothing more. Nothing less. This girl and her friend weren’t that bad at Galaga, and they were even kind enough to get in this picture.



The ice was totally broken. What do I chalk it up to? My striking good looks? The "gun show?" Nope. It was all this:

The Tao Of William Zabka

In what can only be chalked up to alcohol- and retarded-fueled negligence, William Zabka has yet to receive a lifetime achievement award from the AFI. Since my article on Elm Street II was moving enough to get the S.C. Senate to remove the Confederate Flag from the Statehouse Grounds and delete all their emails with "re: re: secret homo battle" in their subject lines, I’ve decided to use my powers of persuasion once again to hopefully correct a more politically correct but equally fucked up injustice.

You know who William Zabka is, you just don’t know who he is. Will punched, dove, karated, and punched again his way into America’s hearts in the 1980s—over and over and over and over. I can’t think of an actor that personified the entire "80s" mentality more than William—in fact, to me he is THE definitive 80s icon. If you’re reading this, Pac-Man, and you probably are, I wouldn’t recommend you argue…unless you want him to PUT YOU IN A BODY BAG!!!! YEEEEAAAHHHH!

Billy Z. was the perfect 80s antagonist. He was such a cock in every one of his movies, but what’s interesting is why. Look at him. The movie-going public could never relate to that guy. On the contrary…he personified the collective guy who flushed the movie-going public’s head in the toilet after gym class. 50 times. A day. Nobody wants to see this guy get the girl. They’ve been losing girls to guys like this all their lives. That’s why I pumped my fist and almost wet myself when Rodney Dangerfield Triple Lendinged all over his ass. Think about the heroes in any Hughes movie of the 80s—they were underdogs, and were always somehow flawed. Not Big Willie Style. All he wants to do is sweep your leg. And if you punch him back he’ll just smile before he kicks your ass, breaks your bike, makes fun of your mom’s car, and then fucks your girl.

No audience will ever rally behind William Zabka because he just looks like someone you want to hate. With that said, he owned Karate Kid. The last few times I’ve seen it I even rooted for Johnny, and you can read all about why here.

With that, Homemade Fireworks gives it’s first-ever lifetime achievement award to 80s movie staple William Zabka.

Required Reading, Day 2

In continuing with today’s theme, check out Matt from X-E’s hilarious tribute to the unsung heroes of Star Wars.

Eighties Week Starts...NOW!!

That's right! It's that time of the year agian! Welcome to "HADES IN THE EIGHTIES II," a week-long celebration of all things '80s! Every day this week, we here at Homemade Fireworks are going to pay a new, much-deserved, and impossibly hilarious tribute to the decade of Debbie Gibson, The Goonies...and Gorf.

To kick things off, we're going to hop in the Delorean and set the Flux Capacitor to "Reagan." We're going to take a peek into the formative years of Charlotte's most celebrated Internet personality me, and maybe, somewhere along the line, we just might be able to find out were things started to go wrong.


As my mom rambled on and on about how big a bounty Jabba had on my head, I slowly raised my blaster pistol.


Seconds earlier, this pool was full of evil Wing-Kong foot soliders. You don’t see any of them in there now, do you? You’re welcome, pool.


When I looked at the Dolphin Lunch Menu and saw that "face" was the main course, I had no idea they were talking about mine!!


When the word came down that my parents were Communist double-agents, I had no choice but to liberate my kitchen with extreme prejudice.


If another birthday party tried to tell me it was the best birthday ever, I'd show it this picture and then wait for it to admit it was lying.


The rebels crapped themselves when they discovered they had crash-landed on Romper Roomulus 10, the planet of huge children, but by then it was too late.

So there you have it. Stop by tomorrow as "Hades In The Eighties II" continues!

Victory Tastes Like Pabst

My friend Will has a huge problem with Cyclops from the X-Men, more specifically, how he's always getting his ass kicked. The logic behind his theory is that if you're an X-Man, you fight crime. That's what you do. Think about your job. You come home tired, right? You may not be all about hitting the gym or going for a jog, and I'll buy that. Cyclops, on the other hand, has no board meetings, no TPS reports to forget to put cover sheets on, no videos of fat people falling down to forward to the other X-Men. Cyclops has no excuse to not spend every minute of his day karateing a punching bag shaped like crime, and when he's not doing that he should be doing something else...we'll say push-ups. Despite all this training, Cyclops is ALWAYS getting his ass kicked, even by his girlfriend. And when he's not doing that, he's getting it kicked by an evil girl X-man disguised as his girlfriend. Fuck.

All that to say I'm the exact same way. I don't have a girlfriend. I'm always broke. As you can see, I really have no choice but to spend every moment of my life playing video games, and I do. But for some reason, despite a lifetime of preparation, I have NEVER beat my friend Kevin at our traditional pre-night-out game of Madden '97. Never. Until now. Bitch.



Homemade Fireworks field reporter me gloats over his first Madden victory in three years. Immedatley after the win he yanked the game out of the Sega, signed it, and handed it to his publicisit in the stands.




If the look on the K-Man's face appears to be that of a man who's just been forced to assume the position of obedience and ask for another and another and another, it's because that's exactly what just happened.

The Cup Of Quarters Part II, Starring The Transformers

Small Transformer: Hey Windcharger. Don’t you think it’s strange that Transformers as insignificant in the action figure storyline as us got assigned to guard all this money?

Windcharger: No, not at all…uh…what was your name again?

Small Transformer: I have no idea.



Windcharger: Hey, wait a minute! This doesn’t look like $150! What happened?



Breakdown: Sorry, guys. I hope you don’t mind. I took some of the money and spent it…on THE WORLD’S LARGEST MARGARITA!!!

Windcharger: SWEET!



-SPLASH!- ...glug...glug...glug...glug



Breakdown: ...



...glug...glug...glug...glug...Ahhhhhhhh!




Breakdown: Wow. I was totally kidding. That wasn’t the world’s largest margarita. It was Optimus Prime’s urine sample. And you drank it. Speaking of, I think I’m gonna take off. I don’t hang out with guys who drink pee.



Windcharger: Fuck you.


So there you have it. Optimus Prime’s uralysis and Windcharger’s stomach pump came to approximately $143.95. Here’s what I spent the rest on:



P.S. You know you’ve made it when Little Lost Robot gives you a shot out. Just another reason why Portland owns the Web. Thanks LLR!