Chapter 3: Emulation is the Sincerest Form of Flattery

What in the world is cooler than having a Sonic the Hedgehog screen saver? Well, lots of things actually. I think stamp collecting and entomology are cooler than that. Organizing one's sock drawer is also a hell of a lot cooler.

So anyways, not only did Spam Boy have a Sonic scren saver, I at one point noticed that his cursor would actually animate into Sonic whenever he would double click on something. The little Sonic icon would curl into a ball and start spinning while waiting for the task to complete.

I at one point owned a Sega Genesis. I even owned the lion's share of Sonic the Hedgehog titles. Not once was I so enamored with them that I thought about dedicating web space to the topic. (Although to be fair, at the time I did not have access to the internet, nevermind the ability to create my own web site. My nerd level had not yet peaked.) However, that's exactly what Spam Boy did. Granted, this development occurred at the tender age of 15 and on a bet no less, but if you were to venture a guess that this kind of behavior is still going on today, you'd be entirely correct.

Of course, as one gets older and smarter, the kinds of things that the site can become increases multi-fold. As a result, the simple Sonic the Hedgehog cover site (It's not a cover site, it's a tribute site!) had grown to be something much more meaningful, and yet much scarier. I was introduced to the website, www.emulationzone.org, a site dedicated to emulating video game console software on the PC, as well as a sub-group called the Sonic Stuff Research Group (SSRG), and yes you read that correctly.

Here's what the definition of the group is from their own web site:

For several years, SSRG stood as a corner stone to the ‘Zone’s success. For those that are unfamiliar with SSRG, the site dealt the hacking the Sonic line of games, along with discussing secrets pertaining to these games as well. Associated with it was a Sonic hacking scene, that encouraged people to learn about computers by studying the SEGA Genesis console and how to hack ROM images of the games.

In layman's terms, you could play a cartridge-based video game on your computer. This was for those who no longer got a thrill from playing Sonic and Knuckles (TM) on just any old gaming console and needed that shot of adrenaline that comes from sitting in front of your computer, much like an alcoholic moving on from Milwaukee's Best Ice to Old English 800. Either that, ir it was for college students who couldn't get enough friends together to kick in for a $40 game cartridge.

But could the good times last forever? Aparently not. In 2003, the Sonic Group did a little 'sit and spin' action, indefinitely. And if you thought it was due to lack of interest or technological reasons, you're wrong. It's something far more sinister and far more hilarious.

For the past year and a half, the Sonic hacking scene had degenerated from a nice little community where you could learn about computers and talk about secretes to the games to a community of immature preteens, only interested in arguing, being a jerk to one another and seeing Sonic and Co in obscene positions.

Yep, dirty pictures of Sonic and Knuckles doing dirty things to each other. From kids. Now if that's not irony, I don't know what is.

Out of the ashes of the SSRG (Wow, I'm still at a loss about a Sonic Research Group) arose an internet radio station that played only musical themes from video games. So if you were one of those people that thought Gordon Lightfoot or Cat Stevens were just a little too heavy for you and instead wanted the constant mellow drone of Super Mario Brothers, this was right up your alley. Or right down your steam pipe.

One of the best examples of unintential comedy I've witnessed is when I was forced to listen to a couple of recordings that Spam Boy provided to me, his SSRG theme song, as well as a half-hour documentary about the origins of EmulationZone.

First, the theme song involved Spam Boy and his SSRG partner singing a version of the Brady Bunch Theme Song, but replacing all the words with how the group got started. Key elements missing from this song include a tune, and being on the same lyric at the same time.

Secondly, there was the half-hour documentary. And OH MY GOD, was this funny. It's narrated for the first 20 minutes by this other fellow as he delves into the 5 year history of the site. This would be borderline boring except for the "E! True Hollywood Story" music playing in the background and changing along with the mood of the story.

At one point, when the site comes under attack from a rival site, they start playing music that's a cross between some cheap horror movie and Unsolved Mysteries. And since there appears to be a lot of tumult and debate in EZ's history, they play such music for a good chunk of the time. It appeared as if rivals were always present, trying to poo-poo the group's treasure trove of Top Secret Sonic the Hedgehog information, which led to a number of fights and threats of litigation. And all of this is being said with a straight face, or at least that's what it sounded like. Even when their site is attacked by "Ultra the Vampire", a line in the script that had me nearly peeing my pants, he did not break character.

The best moment might have been when Spam Boy screwed up and announced what the offical web site name was going to be, www.emulationzone.com. The next day, after his announcement had gone public, he went to procure the domain name and somebody had already hopped online and squatted the rights to it. The narrator describes this moment by saying, "In what was probably not a wise decision..." Classic, just classic.

Then, if you get to make it to the 20 minute mark, which may be difficult for many, you get to hear from Spam Boy himself. Every question the interviewer asks him, he just repeats back.

Narrator: "So, what was your biggest achievement?"
Spam Boy: "What was my biggest achievement? It would have to be the SSRG."
Narrator: "So what will you remember the most?"
Spam Boy: "What will I remember the most? ....."

And it goes on and on like that. Then he screams something about if people want to buy a t-shirt, they can contact him, and then the recording ends suddenly, just as it's ramping up.

So there you have it. The story of how a man-child can let a kid's hobby become his own little cottage industry, and how part of it came crashing down when the dirty pictures of Sonic became public.

It's a crying shame.

Clash of the Emulation Titans

--- Late Breaking News ---

A source has informed us that an all-out war between two web designers began early this afternoon. Initial reports suggest that as many as 230 people have been killed, with hundreds more wounded in this Internet Holy War. Apparently, the Jihad began when web designer and Sega Emulator hacker Spam Boy found another URL containing the word 'Zone'.

Spam Boy had been using the Z-word on his website since late 1996, long enough to consider himself its sole-owner. Another website, www.RAMZone.com has been in effect since midmorning today.

RAMZone's creator/owner began this website when he found it difficult to listen to a RealAudio newscast, ironically reporting on Spam Boy's emulation website. He dedicated his life to development of a better Real Audio player, which would allow the user to advance and rewind recordings without starting the entire clip from the beginning.

In a press release, RAMZone's owner stated that he had been listening to a commentary on Spam Boy's e-battles over differences in emulation opinion, when he took a second to wipe the snot from his upper lip. Apparently the utter idiocy of the report brought on uncontrollable, lip-snotting laughter, and he missed further hilarity due to the wiping of the lip. When he attempted to rewind the clip, the audio cut out and he was forced to start over. Thus RAMZone was born.

At this time, EmulationZone guerillas have destroyed the building housing the RAMZone server and it has been effectively shut down. High ranking RAMZone officials swear on their DOS manuals that they will get the site back up and will communicate through regular postings. Until then, an exclusive Buddy List has been established through AOL Instant Messenger to communicate, allowing only people within the Buddy List to see if they’re online; the toughest form of protection available.

We will continue to follow the story as it unfolds. Our prayers are with the families of those killed and injured during the initial clashing of the Emulation Titans.

The 11th Plague

Historians have more than documented the first Ten Plagues from biblical times; frogs, locusts, and so on. The tenth and final plague involved a murderous spirit that would ride through town killing the first born son in every household. The loophole here was that if your door was marked with the blood of a sacrificial lamb, your son would be spared (AKA Passed Over). Abraham’s people were obviously in on the plan and had appropriately painted their doors in the aforementioned Lamb’s blood. All others fell victim to the ghostly executioner in an evening of widespread killing. You’ll have to excuse my oversimplification and possible historical inaccuracies, but I’m not one for religious “history”. I merely recounted the evening of phantasmal debauchery in order to illustrate the obvious parallel between biblical plagues and Yankee Candles.

Although apparently unpleasant, Spam Boy’s Subway-induced onion breath is neither the Grim Reaper nor is it Plague 10 ½. In fact, the analogy described here precedes the whole onion breath/utility belt/votive kidnapping fiasco of the early Aughts (Naughts? Ohs? Turn of the Milleniums?). The story I’m about to tell you was briefly mentioned in the recollection of the votive episode, but deserves elaboration.

It was around Christmas, the 2002nd or 2003rd Year of Our Lord and Spam Boy was working in the Digital Hardware department. After several rounds of severe illnesses (physical, mental and other), he was ordered by his chief physician to move to another department. But Spam Boy had one last task to perform. One Friday afternoon, he made the rounds handing out heavily scented votives. As rumor has it, these were not given to everyone but only Spam Boy’s Chosen People. One could argue that just being in the office at the time was enough to earn your spot on the Chosen list, but some candles were left in unoccupied cubicles. When Monday morning came around, the tang of French Vanilla stained the air. This act was not something to be overlooked.

Recent accounts confirm that many cubicles are still marked by the now-muted candles. With Spam Boy’s history of instability and apocalyptic, vengeful (softball loss induced) rants only one conclusion seems logical. These votives are proverbial markings left on the doors of the Chosen People. They are the few who are to be spared during a U.S. Post Office style massacre. Anyone else will be violently gunned down in a chemically imbalanced bloodbath. Spam Boy has made it known who shall die and who shall live. Once in his violent trance, he’ll be incapable of discerning between the Good and the Evil. The votives will be his guide. All others beware; this is your only warning!

Chapter 2: Which Yankee Candle Scent Goes Best With Onions?

You ever walk into one of those Yankee Candle stores in your local mall, or better yet, a factory outlet store? I typically cannot last in there longer than 15 minutes. There are way too meny scents to digest and the combination of them all hiting your nasal passages at the same time is enough to knock you out cold. Or, in the case of myself, there's the situation of having a raging headache that you're forced to deal with on the ride home.

One of my first memories of Spam Boy was when I was walking back to my cubicle one day, and I swore I caught of whiff of what had to be a lit candle. Now, the place where we all work is ridiculous about safety. They don't want anything other than your standard light fixtures plugged into your cube's electrical outlets. You can imagine that if somebody from our Environmental Health & Safety office walked by, they would have had a conniption. However, OSHA did not need to be contacted becuase as it turned out, after a few passes by his cubicle, there was nothing lit.

What I did discover, however, was that there was an entire box of Yankee Candle votives lying out on his desk, stinkifying the entire office.

At the time, this was only a modest inconvenience, but then a while later when we relocated and he ended up next to me, this became a definite problem. I hear that in his previous work assignment prior to being in my office, he worked upstairs in hardware and allegedly handed out some of these votive candles to several of his colleagues there.

Now this is where I should probably remind you that we work in engineering and not in a boutique. So what do you do when a fellow engineer leaves a votive candle on your desk as a gift to you? Do you graciously accept it and keep it in your cubicle? Do you question the giver's masculinity?

Despite the fact that many were given away as gifts, there was still a healthy assortment in the box. Certainly there were enough left there, and the combinatorics of fruit and flower smells were such as to dredge up the same sickness I feel whenever I walk into Yankee Candle. I decided to be bold and ask what the deal with the candles was. I mean, after all, isn't that a little fruity? (Pun SO intended.)

The explanation I got, as usual, was priceless. Apparently Spam Boy loves to go out and get Subway sandwiches for lunch... at about 4 in the afternoon. And the sandwich he gets on a given day has to do directly with what the daily special is. And no matter what the daily special was, it always included onions. So, it follows that the candles were present as a precaution to fight whatever onion-breath was present after lunch. Wouldn't a mint have tackled the situation head on? That seems more to me like when you're over a friend's house and you drop a Stanley Steamer in their bathroom and you frantically look around for the aerosol spray, which of course only makes it smell like a more flowery Stanley Steamer.

As a side note, if you could ever witness Spam Boy going out to grab lunch in the middle of the afternoon, it in itself is a humorous sight. The guy sprints, full out, like a track star on methamphetamines when he's leaving. Even funnier, he does it on the way back into work too. Through the parking lot, then through the hallways here, he runs like his hair is on fire. Now he does it on the way in in the morning too. Just the other day, I was looking for a parking spot when I noticed him booking it towards the front gate. Too funny.

Anyways, back to the candles. The smell had gotten so potent that whenever he would crack open the box to air out his onion-breath-preventers, other people in the row would swing by to close it back up. This would usually be followed by a lot of back-patting and "Hey, thanks! I was just thinking of doing that myself!"

One day, drastic measures were taken.

The candles were "removed" from Spam Boy's cubicle in a not-so-elaborate but humorous prank. While the candles were noticed missing immediately, the several packs of gum that were taken were not.

See, we were always playing pranks on each other, but this one just happened to be convenient. One time, he had entire Sam's Club box of Kudos sitting on his desk that he made a big deal about. So, one by one, we taped each one of them to his white board. A number of them we all taped together on one large piece of packing tape to create a makeshift Kudos utility belt.

So when the votives were discovered missing, a cry went out throughout the office... "WHO TOOK MY CANDLES?" He was clearly upset. Days went by, and nobody responded. I swear to you I didn't do it, but I most certainly found the whole debacle pretty humorous.

A few days later, Spam Boy kicked it up a notch and wrote on our office sign-out board in about 3,000 point font for the whole world to see: "WHO TOOK MY CANDLES?" It should be mentioned that later that same day, the entire office received an email from our manager dictating that the office sign-out board was to be used ONLY for business-related purposes. Busted!

To heighten the comedic value of the prank, one by one the candles started to reappear in Spam Boy's cube, akin to some movies when a kidnapper starts mailing back pieces of the hostage to the hostage's family to ensure the ransom.

Eventually, all of the candles made it back into the box, and Spam Boy ceased and desisted with his hissy fit. But for a while there, things got a little crazy. Setting the tone for other things to come.

Words of Warning!!!

I don't like being wrong, and to that end I have found comfort in my daily horoscopes from msn.com. Horoscopes allow us not only the opportunity to do things we wouldn't normally do ("My horoscope told me to sit in the park and eat ice cream instead of going to that boring meeting") or just offer words of wisdom. Mainly they allow me an excuse for why things didn't work out ("This was in no way my fault, it just wasn't in the stars for me"). However, sometimes the planets' collective conscience requires them to send urgent messages warning of impending harm. Today was one of those days. Without boring the masses about the different components of one's daily horoscope I'll just say that this is a portion of my personal horoscopical (no a real word) makeup:

" It's easy to get onto someone's victim list. All you have to do is fall for a trick once and they'll keep on coming back for more. The Moon is in conjunction with Pluto and someone could well try to pull the wool over your eyes. If you keep your eyes open and stay mindful of this possibility you should be able to avoid any trickery. Trust your instincts. Not every plea for help is genuine."

This straightforward message tells me that SpamBoy is going to find out about the book/weblog, adding us all to his ever growing Kill List. Undoubtedly we will all be individually invited to the notorious Springfield Bomb Shelter, where the bodies of so many Polish Debutantes (as well as the future bodies of our principle author and the Coed Softball Commissioner) are kept. So I suggest everyone keep his/her eyes open and be on the lookout for any and all SpamBoy related trickery. I know I will.

Chapter 1: Spam Boy and the Polish Debutante

Many times during the course of one's life, you'll run into a person who's crazy antics and off-the-wall behavior will crack you up and leave you with a smile on your face. Less often, they'll be able to do this consistently without realizing it. This is what is commonly referred to as "unintentional comedy". This is where the person fails to see that they are the butt of their own jokes and that the world is laughing at them and not with them. And once in a great rare while will you come across somebody who meets the above criteria while at the same time soaking in all of the attention and loving every minute of it. This person happens to be a co-worker of mine. In the interest of changing names to protect the innocent (and yet absurd), we will refer to him as "Spam Boy".

You see, there is never this good of an opportunity to draw such unintentional comedy from a constant source on a daily basis as there is with Spam Boy. As a matter of fact, the reason this tome was to be generated was because there was so much material, and if I didn't write it down, it was in jeopardy of being forgotten. And when I say daily basis, I am not exaggerating by that much. For instance, there was a period of a year in which he sat next to me which provides the bulk of the material contained herein, not to mention the new humor that he brings on a semi-regular basis now that he's moved away.

Take for instance how I learned about the nickname Spam Boy. When SB and I worked on a project together, somebody in our group took the initiative of making us all individualized name tags. These name tags all included a nickname that reflected the specific aspect of the project we were working on. For example, since I worked on "Project X", that made me "Project X Boy". The poster was funny and contained a picture of an action figure in a space suit. Everybody had them, as one person was represented by Batgirl, somebody else by Wolverine, and it was all in good fun. I didn't think anything of it other than it showed team spirit and a little bit of humor. Well, Spam Boy puts up a picture of himself in a tuxedo, holding a can of Spam in his white-gloved hand. Curious what this was about, I asked. As always, and as you'll find, the answer was definitely worth waiting for.

Apparently, once in a while in the fair city of Springfield, Massachusetts, there will be a Polish Debutante Ball. From how I remember it being told to me, it is somewhat of a blind date in that you don't know who you're taking. You show up in a tuxedo, and they pair you up. As is what you would expect, it is an event mostly for the girls to dress up in nice white gowns and dance the night away with a select young man. Perhaps the most humorous aspect of this Ball, other than that it exists in the first place, is that they don't allow you to attend unless you have 100% Polish-y goodness running through your veins.

Well, Spam Boy has these nice pictures of him and his assigned Polish Debutante dancing and having a good time. All of these pictures, I would say, were tastefully done, although I was still cracking up at the concept of such a Ball. But here's where the craziness comes into play. For some inexplicable reason, he decided to crop the nice-looking Polish girl out of one of the pictures where they were holding hands and replace her with a can of Spam. I mean, why would you want to be seen with a Polish Debutante (God, I still love saying those words) when you could be seen with a can of Spam?

So that's basically the tale. But you can see how a simple question like "Where did you get that picture of yourself with the can of Spam?" can turn into a whole explanation of Polish Debutantes and the like. And that's just one story... and a tame one at that.

I've got a million of these.... and they're all true.

The Great Softball Controversy

It was late June of aught-four when the softball revolution began. One year later, players in the small town coed softball league were still forced to play in less than meager conditions. Official batting rules had yet to be fully defined and put into writing, the fields were barely playable, and only one man was willing to stand up to The Commissioner.

He was an outcast from neighboring city where his refusal to bow to the good ol’ boy network of the Coed Softball Commission left him a coach without a team, and without a home field. He had already proven his leadership skills, whipping a team of full grown adults acting like 4 year old whiners into a cohesive unit. They may not have all finished the season together, but their strong feelings for eachother won’t die soon.

Now, on his second team in as many years, Cap’n Wol’n - as he’s called by friends – finds himself battling one of the toughest coed softball commissioners in Berkshire County. His efforts to improve the playing conditions for his teammates and all players in the league have been thwarted by the red tape of small town beaurocracy. In an environment where even the beloved Triple-A “Black Bears” are required to play in a Quadruple-A grade stadium and local townspeople are afraid to stand up against a merciless, facist City Hall, The Cap’n stands no chance against the local commission. His latest volley of demands were met by a simple response stating that “his team had become difficult and was being disbanded”. The Commissioner had invoked an old, rarely-used bylaw originally intended to prevent shorthanded teams from filibustering. Decades ago, filibustering was used to postpone the start of a game, knowing that fickle Berkshire weather would eventually allow a rainout to cancel the game, thus avoiding a loss. The brazen move shows that The Commission does not intend to fight fair.

As of press time, The Cap’n has made no official statement. However, those close to him know the strength of his convictions and the power of his determination. Reports indicate that a summit has been planned between The Cap’n and the Coed Softball Commissioner at The Cap’n’s private bomb shelter somewhere near Springfield, MA. No information is available regarding the location of the bomb shelter or a scheduled meeting time, but local residents have indicated that shipments of bomb shelter grade SPAM have been recently delivered to The Cap’n’s childhood home in Springfield.
Reuters and the Associated Press will be following this story. Further information will be provided as it becomes available.

Don't Fear the Shelter

I can see it now. You'll be crouching in the bomb shelter, scared out of your mind. The video camera with night-vision will be shaking in your hand. And the Blair Witch style snot bubble in your left nostril. We then hear the high-pitched, blood curdling scream you let out. All we can imagine is the display case full of Polish Debutantes vacuum sealed in mylar bags for posterity. Then, the camera pans across to reveal the truth. No, no, no, NOO! It's as we expected, but their hands have all been removed, replaced with cans of Spam. Oh, the inhumanity.

Just then, we hear the shiver-inducing voice of your captor (signup sheet in hand) asking if you'd like to play basketball on his team next spring, an unexpected twist in the already nightmarish series of events. BAM-BAM, our beloved narrator puts both slugs from a double-barreled shotgun through his skull, ending what would have undoubtedly been the worst fate known to man (aside from having your hands replaced with spam and being vacuum sealed inside a mylar bag for posterity). That fate, gasp, dare I say it. That fate (choke, gag, minipuke) would be to play basketball on the world's worst basketball team, under the direction of the world's worst captain/dictator/implied friend. There would be mandatory photo shoots, posters, Dalton Public Access TV commercials, radio plugs on 105.5 and worst of all, the public appearances and poster signing. No, the double dose of 12-gauge euthenasia is the only option. And for some reason, the video would be sent around to the entire department Monday morning (or mid-afternoon, whenever he manages to make it to work). The only other proof of the capabilities of this deranged madman were splattered on the wall of a bomb shelter 10' below the ground somewhere near Springfield, MA.

The healine in the Berkshire Eagle reads, "Local Man Commits Suicide; Quiet Software Designer Held for Questioning".

For your safety, I would bring a can of Spam to serve as a distraction (or hostage) allowing you to escape the bomb shelter when the inevitable happens. AND FOR GOD'S SAKE, TAKE YOUR OWN CAR!!!

"And the best part is they're all true"

Corbett Report!!

Is there a better way to start a blog?

Corbett Report!!
Corbett Report!!
Corbett Report!!
Corbett Report!!