I watched my Dreamcast do a barrel roll down an entire flight of bare wood stairs. Any other appliance might have elicited a shrug and an ambivalent sigh, but real gamers know the sound of a Sega system being gratuitously destroyed by negligence is worse than the death rattle of a Vietnamese monk being consumed by a raging inerno.
Well, they sure don't build 'em like they used too. This modest white box would survive a trip on Oceanic. I've been waiting patiently for two days for my girlfriend to be conveniently out of the apartment so I can rekindle the old romance between myself and this lovely thing they called Dreamcast. Alas, I hear the patter of gentle feet. For sooth my love. Powerstone, I shall never abandon thee.
Monday, June 2, 2008