I am the Deputy News Editor at Destructoid. I write about videogames for a living. That last sentence is as awesome as it sounds, though not always in the ways you might think.
I also play host to Destructoid's live streaming satellite studio, Couchtoid. From there, we broadcast Backlog, an attempt to work through my stack of old games one hour at a time (Weeknights, 10pm Pacific) and Saturday Morning Hangover where Dtoid writer Jordan Devore and the always lovely ImpossiblePlant play often painful games for your amusement (Saturdays, 10am Pacific).
I'm fond of all types of gaming, either on a screen or a tabletop. In terms of video games, my interests vary wildly from platformers (2D preferred) to RPGs and the occasional FPS. The greatest game of all time is Mega Man 2 and any suggestion otherwise will be met with swift vengeance.
E-mail: conrad@destructoid.com
Twitter:
ConradZimmerman
Jenny: 867-5309
Currently playing:
Pinball FX 2 (XBLA)
Pac-Man Championship Edition DX (XBLA)
Geometry Wars 2 (XBLA)
Old Features
On the Table
RetRose Tinted
Death by Cartoon
About Rodney Dangerfield:
The mere inclusion of Rodney Dangerfield can vastly improve anything. Films, music, toasters, anything. In particular, the force of Rodney Dangerfield could elevate video games to the level in which they are accepted by the mainstream as a true art form, bringing together people of all races, creeds and tax brackets in peace and harmony.
RIP Rodney.
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I hope I win.
True story is true. D:
“Well gang, looks like this mystery is just about wrapped up,” said Fred, proud as usual of being part of the team that solved the mystery, yet once again getting out of doing anything particularly useful.
“Not quite, Fred,” interrupted Velma. “We caught Mr. Wilkins red-handed as the Tentacle Monster of Hiroshima, and we’ve been able to figure out each and every clue that points to him as the culprit. We’ve solved every piece of this mystery except for the lingering stench of sex and patchouli oil that’s been following Scooby around the whole time we’ve been in this haunted Tex-Mex restaurant.“
Scooby gulped as everyone turned to look at him.
Daphne folded her arms and glared at Scooby. “You smell fucking awful, Scooby. Do you have an explanation?”
Scooby shrugged and mumbled incoherently, but it was clear he was holding something back.
“Like, Zoinks Scoob, it’s okay,” said Shaggy, comforting his life partner. “We won’t be mad. We just want to know what happened.”
Mr. Wilkins sighed loudly. “Leave that poor, beautiful beast alone,” he said, tears welling up in his eyes. “He has done nothing wrong. It was I! I raped Scooby Doo!” He flinched, waiting for a blow that never came. Cautiously, he opened his eyes and looked at the group of youngsters who had captured him. They were standing about and shifting their weight uncomfortably, none of them looking up from the ground.
Fred was the first to speak. “I… I have a confession, gang. I raped Scooby Doo too.”
“I raped him twice,” said Daphne. “I keep a strap-on in my purse for special occasions.”
“Like, Zoinks Scooby Doo, I raped you too!” exclaimed Shaggy, trying to hold back the rush of emotions.
Velma looked around, bewildered. She thought she had known these people. She had traveled with them for years, solving mysteries, and now it came to this: they had all raped Scooby Doo.
“Yes Velma, I can see the horror in your eyes. We raped Scooby Doo. And we would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for your meddling. So now that you know our secret, we must… dispose of you.”
Fred had untied Mr. Wilkins, but left him in his Tentacle Monster suit. The four slowly closed in on Velma and Scooby, both of them whimpering in fear.
“Ruh roh,” said Scooby Doo.
“Ruh roh indeed, Scooby,” whispered Velma in return. “I’ve always loved you Scooby. I want you to know that.”
And they shared one last kiss before the end.
Conrad opened the notebook he found as he sat in the dimly lit hotel room. "By Francis Wayland Thurston", it said on the cover. Little did Conrad know that reading this notebook would snatch away the thin veil of reality from his eyes. A reality that was already severely destroyed by a month of not playing GTA 4.
As he feverishly consumed the lore that was described in the dark notebook, Conrad jumped up at a sound. *knock knock*, a hard fist sounded on his hotel room door. "Who is it?", Conrad asked. He got no reply...
*knock knock*, the fist sounded, harder this time. Through the crack of light below his door, Conrad could see the shadows of a set of feet. No, two sets. And something else... Something that didn't look like a foot, but moved as if it supported someone anyway. As he slowly leaned forward, Conrad could make out some strange noises. The feet were moving away, while the other shadow remained. It sounded.. squishy, as if it was some form of tentacle. Conrad moved closer towards the door, trying to remain quiet at the same time, his blood racing through his body. After a minute, the strange shadow moved away and everything looked normal again.
As he looked to the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels on his bedside cupboard, Conrad wondered what exactly he just saw. His eyes gazed upon the mysterious notebook. "It must be the stress", he said to himself and moved to the window. Looking outside, he could only see shimmers of a dreary village through torrential rains. Innsmouth, they called this town.
A manic thought suddenly entered Conrad's mind: "In whose mouth? In what's mouth?"
Conrad decided to check outside his room if there were any signs of strangeness. He had to go downstairs to ask the clerk about the location of the town's boardgame center anyway, which was the reason he even came here. At least that was what he told himself.
It was now two weeks ago that Conrad received a strange letter from the Innsmouth Cthulhu boardgame club. They had read his cblog on Destructoid and noticed his exceptional skill and knowledge on the subject matter. Proudly, he had accepted the invitation, not knowing where or what he was getting into. Not caring.
Those two weeks suddenly felt like an eternity away. Like another lifetime. Everything just felt wrong all of the sudden. As if someone didn't want him here. As if... something didn't want him here.
Anxiously, he opened his hotelroom door. Nothing. Nothing was outside his door, or so it seemed. As Conrad crouched down to make out anything in the dark corridor of the hotel, he noticed a darker stain on the floor. No, not a stain, a track. He touched it. It felt wet, like the lower fruits of the willing 19 year old redhead who offered him his virginity in the plane to Innsmouth. In fact, it also smelled the same!
"What is going on here?", he softly spoke to himself. This didn't feel good, this felt like something otherworldly. Like a madness from the sea. He decided to move downstairs where other people might calm him down.
Suddenly, a door opened to his right. The light from the newly revealed doorway blinded him, making him shield his eyes from whatever was there. "Hello?" he asked, "Is anyone there?". He heard nothing but a slow thumping sound, like a heartbeat, or a thousand fapping Japanese teens on the day that the first Cthulhu full feature hentai movie was announced in Tokyo.
"Daaaaaaaaaagooooooooon", a horrific and slimy voice crackled slowly from beyond the door. "Eh? Like that movie you mean? It wasn't too bad but it lacked something", Conrad replied nervously. He farted. Out of nowhere, something pierce his skin below his heart. "Oh dear, that can't be good", Conrad said to himself as he grabbed his belly. What he felt were the warm insides of his stomach and colons crawl through his fingers. He fell to the side of the hall, slowly slipping to the ground. As he lost his sight, he sensed nothing except for the lingering stench of his recent fart.
"You are not meant to be here", a man's voice boomed from one side as Conrad could the sound of something crawling towards him from the other side. "This room is reserved for Robert Olmstead", the man's voice spoke.
Confused, Conrad's life emptied out on the floor. "At least he had fun with dvddesign's contest", were his final thoughts.
lol
It would be crazy awesome, except for the lingering stench of Hitler's exploded head.
WTF have you been?
OH I WENT THERE.
"Now comes the vote," said Professional Guy, "all those in favor of the immediate resignation and departure of TLS, please raise your hand."
A gross atmosphere filled the room. Silent, yet very deadly. One wrong word or movement would release the overwhelming pressure.
One by one each superhero raised their hand, except for The Lingering Stench.
Their was no confrontation as TLS wafted through the room, towards the exit. The remaining New Justice Leagues members each closed their eyes and slowed their breath, as if their guilt burned anew with each reminder that TLS remained, if only for moments.
Nothing was said when TLS was finally gone, for he would remain, always with them, in more ways than one.
(Warning: I just typed something political on Destructoid...I must prepare for the backlash! Now activating political backlash shields!)
Also, stains.
Darious Pickman had searched the city for hours, looking for Conrad's copy of GTAIV. He had heard it had become a showgirl, but had no confirmation to the rumors. Which he started that very second. He went to the nearest strip club where most of gaming's biggest stars down on their luck had gone. He asked the manager for a behind the scenes tour so that he could survey the place for GTAIV. Strangely enough, women continued to slide up and down Darious. He was startled and confused. He quickly flashed his...badge and asked the ladies if they had seen GTAIV anywhere.
"Oh yeah, that jerk came in here a few days ago. Started talking about 'beeg American teeteez' and his cousin Nico, or something. We thought he was drunk , so we kicked him out. What a weirdo." replied one of the girls. Upon answering this question, Darious left to return home, thinking he was content in his findings.
Of course, when he left, a film premiere across the street piqued his interest. "I'm supposed to be working, but I'm sure GTAIV is fine. Probably on his way home anyway." proclaims Darious. He crossed the street and passed through the crowd until he finally got a glimpse of who was on the red carpet- Vault Boy.
Now, you see, Vault Boy was Darious's favorite celebrity. Little known fact: Darious was the owner and founder of the Vault-Tek fan club and only owns Fallout-related shirts. Its true. He once had a Def Leppard shirt, but he sold it for a Vault Boy bobblehead. He even had a history of constructing elaborate Vault Boy cakes.
Darious charged through the crowd, excitedly trying to push everyone out of the way, as he finally came to Vault Boy's side. He immediately gave him an onslaught of questions that he had written in a journal since he was 7. Being the overall happy guy that Vault Boy was, he answered every single question honestly. Darious was astounded. He even offered to take Vault Boy on a trip to DC to see the nation's capital. Vault Boy replied with a "Fuck yeah, capitalism!" and off they went. He even brought back vacation photos.
DC was damn near perfect. Except for the lingering stench of Washington Monucock. Vault Boy & Darious dissaprove.
I paid her for twisting my wrench
She filled me with glee,
So perfect was she,
except for the lingering stench.