What a dude. Wouldn't like to see the fuel bill mind. Good on the chap.

inb4 rather be in Mariupol than Maindee etc

I can see where you're coming from - if you look at Ultimate Doom or Doom II and put Doom 64 next to it, then there is a raft of limitations and shortcomings that make it appear to be an inferior product. I personally prefer Doom II as well, with the banging soundtrack and the iconic levels.

However, I'd argue you're missing out by approaching it with that mindset. Aubrey Hodges score is less of a soundtrack, and more of an ominous hum in the background - and the overall art style is far more drab and depressing. I'd probably suggest it has more in common with Doom 3 than it does with the first two. I personally prefer the sound effect collection in Doom 64 - the shotgun sounds meatier, the Barons from Hell's alert sound is a bit more worrisome, and the doors sound a bit more industrial.

Personally I agree with the N64 controller assessment - it feels like it was built by someone who forgot how many hands humans have 😂 but the adaptations in the Unity ports make it more than enjoyable now on Xbox or Dualshock controllers.

The laugh is, the Watch Me Die mode (the Ultra Violence of the 64 editions) is probably the easiest "hard" mode on original hardware, purely because the technical limitations prevented lots of enemies (of any tier, not just hitscan wankers) being spawned - and space limitations prevented difficulty spikes caused by Boney Bois (Plutonia-style) or Arch-Bastards ruining your day by not being included in the game at all.

It's still a very, very good Doom game. 64 and PlayStation Doom should be played together for the alternative Doom experience.

The kids are our deciding factor.

If one of us going somewhere with the little 'uns, then the "family car" with the nicer booster seats gets taken by whoever it is that has them. Whoever is getting the peace and quiet, drives the little runabout.

I usually take the little car, and it surprises me sometimes when I jump into the family car and I've got another 50bhp under my right foot.

I get it - I think at this point Trump could empty an AK47 magazine into an orphanage and his core voters wouldn't give a fuck.

I'd imagine there is a good chunk of silent "left-of-Republican" market though - people who have voted red because that's what they've always done, maybe because their household is overwhelmingly Republican but they're ready to break ranks, or even those who boarded the meme train in 2013 or 14 but are ready to get off.

I suppose an awkward analogy is being in a group of twenty people trying to get in to a bar with one or two cunts who are beyond mangled - the sensible ones looking at them and thinking "yeah I've stuck with them this far, but maybe I can make a change and enjoy the rest of the night with people who are largely sensible".

Outsider view from across the pond:

It appears from the outset that the Trump camp is tripping over it's own feet and stepping on landmine after landmine. Literally all Harris seems to have to do is stay on message, bat off anything too controversial, and let the opposition's trousers fall down by themselves.

It'll be interesting either way. The only real surprise to me will be whether I'll learn about key moments from news outlets or from mad memez first.

Disclosure: I'm in the UK where the worker protections are half-decent.

was it ever not OK?

It was not OK to not take a jobby on work time when you had the opportunity!

I've worked shifts where my relief staffer has been in twenty minutes early (long commute, unpredictable traffic) so I've handed the shift over, and ensured that the remainder of my time was spent losing half a kilo of weight in five minutes. Conversely, it feels far more productive to leave the house half-needing to give birth to a brown otter, and nip to the bog once your feet are clear of your workload that you've taken on from the previous shift to go and perform the bowel movement while being paid for it.

Shitting in my own khazi on my days off feels like voluntary work now.

Sensibly though, any manager who controls bog time is just a bit of a fanny. Unless someone is obviously taking the piss like spending four hours of a ten hour shift, then people will perform better once they've laid a cable whenever they've needed to.

Firstly, fuck the Express and fuck that site in particular, turned my phone's screen into Times Square.

While the article doesn't mention their 2016 voting, I'd love to see a Venn diagram of those who had the means and bought property in the EU, and those who had voted to leave. I suspect they'd not be far off a circle.

I feel genuinely sorry for the outliers (edit: assumed outliers) who believed in the EU's ideals and wanted property for whatever reason - work, family, whatever - and are getting horsed by the Blue Passport Gang.

Anecdotally, a good friend of mine has British parents who moved to northern France, voted to leave, and are now shocked that new and harsher rules could possibly apply to them. The most frustrating part is that they're absolutely blind to the prospect that they might just have pissed on their own chips. It's genuinely saddening to see people put two and two together, and come up with "someone else's fault".

Cool. It is his right to do so.

Given the fairly decent conditions he's reported to be living in, and Norway's efforts to give him every avenue to rehabilitate, I very much doubt this case will get very far.

As always, the only winners in pointless stuff like this are the solicitors and lawyers.

I was at a wedding a few years back, on a table with a group of dudes and partners - the dudes and the groom were all housemates with me at some point for a few years. We had a riot, and it was just the typical work-drink-xbox-sleep cycle while we were young, stupid, and had few commitments.

On the tables were disposable cameras for candid selfies and daft photos - and a few were taken. As the night went on, one of the guys was eyeing it up for longer and longer - until he says "excuse me lads", picks up the camera, and fucks off to the toilet. He comes back grinning, and puts it back on the table. That started a chain of one of us picking it up, going to the bogs, and coming back two minutes later giggling.

Apparently they got developed, and the groom, the bride, and both sets of parents were going through the photos thinking they were super cute and reminiscing, until there was just a string of about fifteen photos of poorly-lit hairy ballsacks, before a return to happy and joyful photos from each table.

The bride and parents were not impressed.

neurospicy

outstanding