With a dramatic change nothing short of brilliant, comes a great deal of withdrawl. After the loss of yesteryear's E3, Gamecock brought it upon themselves to not only mourn the show we once knew and loved, but welcome its newly-born stepchild... EIEIO. Thanks to .tiff, the event has already been covered in great detail, but now it's time to take a look back. With that I present to you Destructoid's coverage of the event. Be sure to hang around for the rather infamous Mr. Destructoid Rick Roll. This is the first time in history that it has been done at a Eulogy (Eugooglely) and we are proud to establish this milestone.
Niiice, that was fucking awesome. Whoever was shaking those bells the whole time, go punch yourself in the kidneys... god those bells were driving me nuts.
Totally muddled my words though. I wanted to say that I appreciated that these guys were doing something different and that we're also trying to do something different with Destructoid, but it didn't really come out that way. At least I got all the Astley lyrics right. :)
It's a shame Chocolate Rain wasn't as big back then. Would've been rather interesting to read up there. Either way, the Rickroll was more than appropriate.
I cant believe you got the revenge of the nerds speech in there. In fact I dont think anyone else here even noticed it. Maybe im just fucking old. Good job Niero.
I've been meaning to make this it's own post but I keep slacking. Nex actually wrote a great speech that I didn't have time to memorize or run through a playback device in the helmet, so here's the alternate version we were going to go with:
For the first time this year, we'll be spending the summer months without the warm embrace of the Electronic Entertainment Expo. Certainly, the warmer months will not seem the same without thousands of sweaty people bordering on exhaustion rubbing up against each other in an orgy of poor hygiene and sexual repression, but I'd like to think E3 would want us to carry on. It would advise us to live each day to the fullest, and not mourn its passing; nay, instead it would want us to proudly carry on, bags of cheap merchandise in hand, and remember the good times we once had.
My relationship with E3 was, at times, a tumultuous one. From the first time we met, we knew there was a special connection, but like Romeo and Juliet, or Ike and Tina, we found ourselves constantly starcrossed and destined to break one another's hearts. I recall one particularly hot summer in the City of Angels -- 1994, I believe -- I was a young Robot with dreams of making it big in a city covered in bountiful teats on which to suckle, and E3 took me under her wing. We spent the days enraptured with developer news, booth babes with more interest in Eddie Vedder than the Sony PlayStation and the scent of fermenting nerd, but the nights … well, the nights were ours. I can't count how many evenings I spent lying in the fake grass of Los Angeles, whispering to her of my forbidden desires to fill her cavernous convention hall with myself, and my friends (often at the same time).
Sadly, though, 'twas not to be. Her parents would never have approved of her robosexual tendencies, and I found love in the steely embrace of a cargo ship bound for Cuba. We remained in close contact, but things were never quite the same. While I would still visit her every year, the spark was gone, and she had changed. The last time we spoke, she had become pregnant with the child of an abusive games industry. She had changed from the majestic, strong woman I once knew to a harlot whose existence consisted of cooking dinner and catching drunken beatings from an uncaring Peter Molyneux. It pained me to see her so, and I was forced to cut off contact.
When I heard of her passing last year, I was stunned. She always seemed like the kind who wouldn't roll over and die so easily, but after years of abuse, the games industry had finally crossed a line. When the coroner asked me to come in and identify the body, I found her lying on a cold slab; her body was bloated from years of neglect, her hair a mess, and all traces of the beauty I once knew had been wiped clean by the continual physical assault she had been subject to. I cried that day, long and hard, and I swore from then on that I would keep her memory alive, not the memory of her final, hobbled days, but the memory of the caring woman who, was, in fact, a video game exposition.
With that in mind, ladies and gentlemen I ask you to keep her memory alive. Whenever you see the glimmer of hope in a child's eyes or you unwrap the latest copy of John Madden Presents Watership Down 2009, remember that without E3, none of us would have crabs.
Destructoid is an open discussion community. You don't need to "audition" to post a comment - just speak your mind. We respect differing opinions on the site, so have at it. Be smart, funny, insightful, clueless, or cute -- but back it up with substance. Keep your cool, keep it fun. We only ask that you act respectfully and above all: don't be a troll and ruin it for everyone else. Don't bring down gamers or we'll, you know, gently shoot you in the face and stuff you into a flaming mailbox. Each comment is your opportuntity to make this community awesomer. Is that even a word?
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Contest:
3:52 PM on 07.19.2007
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but as CTZ says, totally worth it
i lose.. damnit!
:'(
you did great ^_^
It was thought about, however it will come
soon
Rick Rolled Baby!
Awesome.
You rock man. And roll. Rick Roll, as it were.
For the first time this year, we'll be spending the summer months without the warm embrace of the Electronic Entertainment Expo. Certainly, the warmer months will not seem the same without thousands of sweaty people bordering on exhaustion rubbing up against each other in an orgy of poor hygiene and sexual repression, but I'd like to think E3 would want us to carry on. It would advise us to live each day to the fullest, and not mourn its passing; nay, instead it would want us to proudly carry on, bags of cheap merchandise in hand, and remember the good times we once had.
My relationship with E3 was, at times, a tumultuous one. From the first time we met, we knew there was a special connection, but like Romeo and Juliet, or Ike and Tina, we found ourselves constantly starcrossed and destined to break one another's hearts. I recall one particularly hot summer in the City of Angels -- 1994, I believe -- I was a young Robot with dreams of making it big in a city covered in bountiful teats on which to suckle, and E3 took me under her wing. We spent the days enraptured with developer news, booth babes with more interest in Eddie Vedder than the Sony PlayStation and the scent of fermenting nerd, but the nights … well, the nights were ours. I can't count how many evenings I spent lying in the fake grass of Los Angeles, whispering to her of my forbidden desires to fill her cavernous convention hall with myself, and my friends (often at the same time).
Sadly, though, 'twas not to be. Her parents would never have approved of her robosexual tendencies, and I found love in the steely embrace of a cargo ship bound for Cuba. We remained in close contact, but things were never quite the same. While I would still visit her every year, the spark was gone, and she had changed. The last time we spoke, she had become pregnant with the child of an abusive games industry. She had changed from the majestic, strong woman I once knew to a harlot whose existence consisted of cooking dinner and catching drunken beatings from an uncaring Peter Molyneux. It pained me to see her so, and I was forced to cut off contact.
When I heard of her passing last year, I was stunned. She always seemed like the kind who wouldn't roll over and die so easily, but after years of abuse, the games industry had finally crossed a line. When the coroner asked me to come in and identify the body, I found her lying on a cold slab; her body was bloated from years of neglect, her hair a mess, and all traces of the beauty I once knew had been wiped clean by the continual physical assault she had been subject to. I cried that day, long and hard, and I swore from then on that I would keep her memory alive, not the memory of her final, hobbled days, but the memory of the caring woman who, was, in fact, a video game exposition.
With that in mind, ladies and gentlemen I ask you to keep her memory alive. Whenever you see the glimmer of hope in a child's eyes or you unwrap the latest copy of John Madden Presents Watership Down 2009, remember that without E3, none of us would have crabs.
Thank you.
Also Husky I can hear you skating while filming. lol pretty cool.
They totally got rick rolled. Better get back on Bomberman tonight too.