Ok, so I dropped out of the industry for a bit after I got fired for letting an issue of Top Total Games Mega Magazine go to press despite being full of nothing but full page photos of myself (on drugs) in various mad poses. Apparently, that wasn't what the readers expected from games magazines back then. What do the effing readers have to do with anything? Bunch of whiny tits.
But now I'm back, baby! I've managed to pick up a bit of freelance work for MeSoLikeeeGames - a website that's probably the top gaming website on The Webs, so I'm already on my way to becoming the top games journalist of the modern era. MeSoLikeeeGames is run by this really cool guy called Timmathon Shoes, or something. He's only 14, but he obviously knows quality writing when he sees it.
Also, he's easily intimidated - so if I want to fill a piece with photos of myself I know all it'll take is a couple of aggressive phone calls, and some thinly-veiled threats. Kids are pathetic. I'd never have let myself get bullied by that. He makes me sick. Inadequate little ponce.
A DAY IN THE LIFE
People often say to me "Hey, Cyber-X - please take your hand off my throat, and tell me what it is like to be a games journalist". If I'd had a quid for every time some useless, pathetic, weak-jawed sap had said that to me I'd probably have about fifty six quid (enough to buy a couple of drugs - except in London, where that's barely enough to buy a single drug).
But whatever (for the record, I don't - and never would - live in London... besides, the hipster community have me blacklisted, after it was alleged that I once hospitalised an entire Hoxton bar full of hipsters because I saw someone drinking out of an old Bovril jar, for god's sake - I have no memory of the incident, so it couldn't have happened. And if anyone tells you they've seen the CCTV - they can shove it deep up themselves. That isn't me. I'm not as hunched over, fat and bald as the guy in the video).
Anyway. To shut you all up - here's what the average day of a gaming word-slave looks like:
11AM - Postman is here! Yes! Review copies. Except... you only received a couple of games. Didn't the PR guy promise you loads more than this? What's going on? Red mist descends. You're FURIOUS.
11.10AM - Call up PR company, fuming, asking where your review copy of some game is. They tell you they apparently emailed over a free download code, whatever that is. Argue with the PR drone that this is no use to you - you need physical product. Get nowhere. Swear. Threaten. Hang up. Punch a wall.
MIDDAY - Take the few physical review copies down the Computer Exchange and sell them. Have an argument with the bloke in there because he won't buy some game off you because it's not out yet, and has "Promo Copy - Not For Resale" stamped on it. Show your disdain for their business practices by kicking the sales counter, and elbowing the till off the desk. Smear phlegmmy spit on the window as you leave, and write your name in it.
12.30PM - Count up whatever money you made from selling the games, and go buy a few drugs.
12.45PM - Take drugs. Stumble around town centre. Go back into the Computer Exchange and have another argument with them. Remind them you're a games journalist and they should show you respect, because you once got an all-expenses paid trip to Egypt for the launch of Tomb Raider 2. Remind them that you only did that for your pathetic readers, and you hated every minute of it, and that you hate writing about games, and the least they can do is not bar you from their shop.
2PM - Receive email from Timmathon asking you how you're going with that review you'd promised two weeks ago. Remind the pathetic little tart that he's only paying you a fiver a piece, and that if he wants stuff quicker he'd better up his rates. Threaten him to get off your case, and remind him that he's not your dad, and if he acts like he is you'll slice him open.
2.10PM - Look up reviews of said game online, cut-and-paste bits of them into an email, and send it to Timmathon just to shut him up.
2.40PM - Sit back and revel in the glory as your piece of literary genius is published on The Webs.
3PM - Decide to write a sitcom.
3.15PM - Finish writing sitcom. It's utter genius. It's like an autobiographical take on Phone Shop; except instead of being set in a Phone Shop, it's set in the Computer Exchange, and all the staff are wankers and there's this customer who works as a PR guy for a games company and he's a wanker too and in my episode the shop catches fire and this cool games journalist guy walks past and sees them all on fire and has to decide whether to save their lives and he chooses to let them burn because they're wankers and he's hailed a hero and loads of birds want to have sex with him on drugs.
5PM - Record a podcast/write memoir/take a drug/ring mates to see if any of them are going out tonight/Have argument with mate because last time you were out you apparently threw a bottle of vinegar and a packet of McCoys at his fiancé.
5.30PM - Ring up your ex and ask to speak to the kid, and when she refuses - because last time you apparently accused him of being gay because he got a Peter Pan costume for Christmas - break down crying and say you wish you were dead, and can you borrow some money please?
5.40PM to 5AM - Don't know.
5AM - Bed.
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