The 2600 explanation is way too perfunctory. Check out the book "Racing the Beam" by Ian Bogost if you want a down-and-dirty explanation of just how fucking insane it was to render graphics on that thing.

Or you could just rent the 1995 computer science documentary "The Net."

And they have perfumes and lotions in their bathrooms and you just know that they're going to anoint themselves with them. It's like, "why bother? Just accept Jesus as your Messiah and be done with it."

Ain't Bobby so cool?

It's not that the question is bad; it's that the interviewees don't really give it much more than superficial thought.

Not to mention "doing exactly what I did got me on the red carpet at the fucking Emmys, instead of sitting around in Iowa posting stupid questions on Twitter."

If they're so smart, why are they watching the Emmys?

"When you gaze into the morally reprehensible garbage, the morally reprehensible garbage gazes back into you." — Shia LeBoeuf.

I'm not sure I'd *want* a blowjob from a woman who was pretending to be Willie Nelson.

Stupid kid. The best strategy was to use your lower board to plot your opponent's shots. Then, if your opponent was supposed to get a hit, you'd just secretly move your ship to some other place where your opponent hadn't shot yet.

He got to it after you, but used his time machine to post it before you. In doing so, he obliterated his original self and has been replaced by a double. So I hope those upvotes were worth it.

Or how Don't Trust the B* In Apartment 23 became Paid Programming.

So where's the fattest housewife in Westport? Probably on TLC, I guess.

2 Pan 2 Labyrinthine.

Oh sure, the sidewalk. But it goes out of warranty by 2:14 in the video and stops working correctly.

It better not be. I'm planning to recoup my purchase price by selling good long sniffs of the codpiece for $10 each.

I posit to you that "E Street Shuffle" is a better album than "Born to Run."

Hey son, you wanna try the Big Top?

I guess I'll have to wait 'til the 50th anniversary to get the "Born To Run: Naked" version that strips away the crappy echo and other production effects that make a great album into a muddled mess. I can forgive Phil Spector for murder, but not for the crimes he inspired on this album.

Science ensues: