It was the summer of 1999. It was a simpler time then. Our days were spent stocking our fallout shelters for the inevitable Y2K disaster. Nobody thought Arnold Schwarzengger would ever take the oath of office (click for audio). And everyone was convinced that in five years nobody would go to the store for anything. Hence, pouring your life savings into an Internet company that sold cat food online was considered a shrewd investment.

Also, cell phones were not yet mainstream, meaning people had to deal with the hassles of long distance plans with numerous hidden fees and restrictions.

The phone company MCI had just sent me a huge bill for some long distance calls. Naturally, since this predated sending anthrax through the mail, I decided to call and complain. After being on hold for about nine hours, I finally got to begin explaining the problems with my bill. Unable to adjust the billing herself, the operator attempted to rectify the situation…

Operator: “Sir, you can mail a letter to our customer service complaint department to further assist you… I’ll give you their address…”
Me (stunned): “Write a letter? Don’t they have a 1-800 number?”
Operator: “No, I’m sorry, they can’t be reached by phone. You need to write them a letter.”
Me (outraged): “What? This is MCI! You guys are a (expletive) phone company! What do you mean they don’t have a phone number? That’s your whole (expletive) business!”

Needless to say, the lines of communication deteriorated rapidly after that exchange. MCI banked (wisely) on laziness impeding any action on my part. It was a risky gamble, but one that seems to unwaveringly pay off when the American public is concerned. So, like everyone else, with clenched teeth I paid my bill in full, shook my fist in the air, and vowed revenge. Had the company not gone bankrupt four years ago, that revenge would have come today in the form of this angry manifesto. Seems kind of petty now, so I’ll just talk about my XBox 360.

Which brings me to my current problem: (cue wavy camera effects, signifying a return to the present day…)

Last night, my 360 froze up. I’m not feeling good about the situation one bit. My experience has taught me that companies that base their business in advanced technology usually don’t possess the most basic technology to actually deal with customer complaints. I have a feeling that when it comes time to helping a customer, all of a sudden, Microsoft has never heard of email.

So, I can’t wait to call Microsoft’s XBox support hotline tomorrow and have the “customer service” representative tell me she doesn’t have Internet or a computer and the only way to submit a complaint is via passenger pigeon. Wish me luck, I feel a potential outrage developing…

Whatever you do, don’t buy “Oblivion” for the Xbox 360. It’s a fun game, and addictive as hell, but I feel ridiculously nerdy while playing it. (As if playing video games as a 28-year old isn’t nerdy enough.)

For instance, right now I’m a level 17 Wood Elf, and have joined the Mages Guild to increase my majicka abilities. I have Mithril light armor, and ebony heavy armor. I have a sword that drains willpower and a staff that absorbs the health of my enemies. My shield reflects frost spells, and I roam around in water-walking boots. I’m using an Elven bow and arrow and wear a tunic that resists poison. Last night, I found a sweet Vampire cave that I know will have some Vampire dust and Welkynd stones. In my mythical world of Cyrodil, life is good.

See what I mean? This is what I’ve become.

And the worst part? Much of the game takes place in dungeons and caves, where the lighting is especially dark. I’ve found that if the lights are left on in the Zillionaire Lounge, it creates a glare on the TV screen and I can’t see in these darkened environments. To combat this, I turn off all the lights, and play the game in the pitch black in my basement. I seriously feel like a mole. A nerdy, nerdy mole.

And since I can’t see the clock in the darkness, I lose all track of time too. The last two nights I’ve been up past midnight fighting Goblins with my Dwarven battle-axe.

My god. I never thought I could succumb to this level of nerdiness. Others of you are probably not that surprised.

Regardless, please don’t shine the light on me. You won’t like what you see, and it hurts my pupils to adjust.

The following is a true story…

I didn’t really publicize this, but I was a candidate to become a staff writer for a major video game publisher last spring. Since I generally don’t believe in protecting the innocent, I’ll name names. It was Bungie Studios, a subsidiary of Microsoft, best known as the creators of the Halo franchise.

I ultimately didn’t get the job, and aside from the flaming bags of dog doo I left on Bungie’s door (my calling card), I didn’t really harbor any ill will.

Until today. Here’s where it gets interesting. Remember this post? During the interview process, I submitted this to “Frankie,” the chief content dude at Bungie.

At the time I sent this to him, this post had already generated a buzz within the Halo community and wound up being linked to by a variety of sites, many of which were not Xbox related. To date, it remains the most widely read post on Internet Zillionaire.

That was more than six months ago. Take a look at what was posted on Bungie’s website yesterday. An article with an eerily similar tone, written by the very person they hired instead of me, whose boss happens to be Frankie. Coincidence?

Anyway, read it for yourself. It’s a pretty blatant rip-off. And keep in mind, I directly submitted this very idea to Bungie. For the record, I am not accusing them of plagiarism… just crappier writing. And from my perspective, this only adds insult to injury. But that’s just my opinion, you be the judge.

It came after yet another loss to a vastly inferior team. After every match of Halo 2, the Zillionaire platoon lands in the post-game lobby with our opponents, presenting us with an opportunity to review our stats while the other team criticizes us for our horrible play.

For The Captive Lion, this is his favorite part of the match. For him, the outcome of the game is truly irrelevant. As long as he can deal a clever insult to the opposing team in the post-game lobby, that’s all that matters. And the more handily we’ve been beaten, the more The Captive Lion seeks to avenge our loss with witticisms. If one of us leaves the post-game lobby early, The Captive Lion actually becomes upset that we didn’t give him enough time to deliver an insult to the other team. Sadly, this is not an exaggeration.

Solo, on the other hand, spends this lobby time obsessing about our stats. Not our actual wins and losses of course, but rather how many “headshots” he tallied during the game. Once he’s carefully reviewed his own stats, he then examines those of his teammates, taking time to point out their killing deficiencies relative to his score. For good measure, he’ll then urge them to “step it up” in the next round.

Lastly, Krusty generally uses the break in the game to fetch another beer or to make fun of The Captive Lion, as these two seem to spend more time taunting each other than our opponents.

As the other team simply laughs at our dysfunctional display, I’m left in the unfortunate position of being the only one actually bothered by the fact we lost a very winnable game to a very sucky team.

Back to the breakthrough I spoke of earlier… At the start of the next game, I resisted the usual urge to bark orders or attempt to formally organize the team. I simply said the following:

The Centaur: “Alright guys, let’s just stick together here… within reason.”

Solo laughed at how low my expectations of teamwork had sunken. But, by tacking on the “within reason” part to my request, it gave a little latitude to The Captive Lion. He still mocked me for trying to implement any semblance of strategy into this affair, but I think he sensed the compromise I had put forth. He didn’t have to march in lockstep with us… he just had to generally act like he was part of our team. I afforded him some room for creativity, and the option to freelance… all I asked was for him to not wander off like a teenager trying to avoid being seen with his parents. (And yes, that metaphor is entirely appropriate.)

Once The Captive Lion was on board, Krusty and Solo followed suit. Lo and behold, functioning as a team, we won easily.

While a win was nice, it was the next match that served as the inspiration for this post. During the game, Krusty manned the turret, and suppressed the other team’s movement with heavy machine gun fire. Once they were pinned down, Solo easily picked them off with the sniper rifle. I guarded both their positions, preventing any sneak attacks. And The Captive Lion was free to tactically clean up anyone that was left, knowing he was well-covered by his teammates. The final score, 50-19, was easily the most dominating win we’ve ever had. And it was all the product of teamwork.

A funny thing happened once we started winning. Suddenly we found ourselves on the receiving end of praise from the other team. In victory, we now could act as gracious winners, or, as you might expect, insufferable jackasses. (This wasn’t an option before.) We no longer felt the need to single out our weakest player, and berate him for his lackluster performance. The best part though? I don’t think I’ll have to spend future games imploring my teammates to regroup, cover each other and focus their taunts on the other team.

Thanks to the miracle of Xbox Live, I can have an assortment of wretched personalities beamed right into my living room. Here’s how it works: Whenever the Zillionaire Platoon is short a man, the Xbox Live “matchmaking” service selects an available player from its network to fill out our team. Of course, these members are carefully screened for red flags, like normalcy or general competence, before joining our squad.

The remaining dregs of society will produce our new teammate, usually in the form of one of the characters below:

The Screamer: Are you capable of screaming into your headset, uninterrupted, for an entire ten-minute match? If not, are you willing to at least attempt it? Sadly, this actually happens. Frequently. Of course, if The Screamer’s fingernails were being removed with pliers during game play I would be a little more understanding. But that’s not the case. The unfortunate reality of the situation is that our nation’s mental hospitals are woefully under-populated.

The Racist: What’s the best way to unwind after placing a burning cross in someone’s lawn? Apparently it’s signing onto Xbox Live. Generally, this player assumes every member of the opposing team is of whatever race he happens to hate the most, and he directs his epithets accordingly. As for being a teammate of this individual, we are pretty much left to spend the entire game cringing.

Tourette’s Syndrome: Why bother using the headset for discussing strategy when you can just bark orders and yell random profanity and insults at your teammates? Seriously, I’m asking. That’s what the headset is made for, right? As my teammates can attest, I have a severe case of this affliction… let’s just move on.

Malibu’s Most Wanted: This suburban white kid loves to quote explicit rap lyrics in coordination with each kill. Also, he turns his baseball hat cockeyed and dons a garish chain during game play. (All right, technically I don’t know if that last part is true, but I assume it is.)

The De-Leveler: What’s it called when you’re afraid of success? I’m pretty sure there’s an actual word for it. Whatever it is, the De-Leveler suffers from this condition big time. Inspired by Johnny Knoxville’s character in the movie The Ringer, the De-Leveler aspires to artificially lower his rank so that he’ll be able to dominate inferior competition. Of course, to achieve a dramatic drop in his skill ranking, the De-Leveler needs to sabotage a few games in grandiose fashion. Unfortunately, we usually don’t realize we have a De-Leveler in our midst until he’s aiming a rocket launcher directly at us.

The Tough Guy: Nothing reeks of masculinity more than challenging someone to a fight via an Internet connection. Needless to say, it’s easy to dole out undeliverable threats of vicious ass-kickings to your opponents when you are protected by online anonymity and distanced by thousands of miles. True to his name, The Tough Guy passes out these threats like Halloween candy. The rest of us are left to hope that just once, one of these proposed confrontations actually come to fruition.

The Instant Quitter: Of the entire list, this individual is probably our favorite teammate. Sure, he quits the game instantly, leaving us desperately shorthanded and outgunned. Compared to the alternatives though, we are actually relieved when we wind up only with desertion from our new teammate.

I am a hideous, wretched creature.

My skin is scaly. My eyes are beady. And as I type this, I’m wearing only a filthy, soiled loincloth.

In other words, I’m like every other owner of an Xbox 360. My wife found one over a month ago, and I did what anyone would do: I subsequently took my treasure to the dankest cave I could find to covet it in isolation.

This is known as the “Gollum Phase” of 360 ownership. Once you have a 360, you really don’t need friends, family, hygiene, or natural light. And unless you’re willing to completely dissociate from civilization, you could be asked to let someone else have a turn with your precious console.

It’s a pitiful existence. I subsist on insects and the flesh of people I bite trying to play with my 360. I’ve abandoned walking for skulking. And I didn’t think it was possible, but I’ve actually gotten pastier.

Sometimes I can’t help but think of my former self. People could generally tolerate my company. I had better posture. And my hair was far less stringy. My wife bought me a 360 thinking it would earn her some positive publicity on this site for once. Instead, well, she created a monster. Literally.

My wife is taking this all in stride, as with any of my annoying habits, she’s hoping it’s just a phase.

Thanks to Hepworth for another outstanding graphic.

The resemblance is uncanny…

But this year, I’m a little concerned. The item I desire most this Christmas, the Xbox 360, is impossible to find in the stores. Somewhere in all the excitement of the most important product launch in the company’s history, Microsoft forgot to actually manufacture any consoles. Apparently nobody bothered to schedule that in Outlook. Sadly, a few pop-up reminders might have averted this whole mess. Seriously, can you imagine if Microsoft planned a New Year’s Eve party? There would be a total of four beers for every thousand guests.

Memo to Microsoft: You call this taking over the world!? Pathetic. My little sister could do a better job of world domination.

Maybe if Bill Gates wasn’t spending all his time getting bad haircuts and eradicating polio this wouldn’t happen. (On a side note, I seriously think Bill Gates goes into Great Clips and asks the stylist to make him look like Harry Potter.) Anyway, even if Microsoft were to get their act together, there is probably little that could be done at this point. It’s not like the Xbox 360 is produced in sweatshops… so that ruins any hopes of them pumping out a million units overnight. Yep, we’re all screwed.

And that goes doubly for me. Getting an Xbox 360 under the tree falls on my wife’s shoulders. You’ll understand my concern once you read my interpretation of what goes through her mind on a typical Christmas shopping trip. (I changed the font style accordingly, as women tend to think in italics…)

She wanders into the GAP. Mens’ collared shirts are on sale! And look, there’s a blue-checkered one in his size! I’ll buy him one of those. And look, matching scarves too! Perfect! He’ll look every bit as emasculated as the mannequin in the store!

Next, she heads to a department store. Here’s a good gift, some nice coasters! Granted, we’ve already got some coasters. But maybe if I get him his own set, he’ll be more mindful of actually using them! I should have thought of this when we first moved in together!

Here’s the big Christmas surprise: I already decided to surprise my husband with some ballroom dancing lessons! And coincidentally, all the lessons occur during Gonzaga basketball games or during the likely playoff schedule of the Seahawks. Of course, he balked at this idea earlier, but I’m getting it for him anyway. That’s the surprise!

At this point, my wife pulls my Christmas list from her purse, seemingly to insure that she didn’t accidentally purchase something I actually want:

Carhardt Jacket
Laptop Computer
Bombay Sapphire (That’s right, I put alcohol on my Christmas list. And I don’t care if Jeff Foxworthy would say that doing so might make me a Redneck.)
Dilbert Calendar
Xbox 360

Wait, what’s this? An Xbox 360? Yeah, right. That’s like, twice the cost of ballroom dancing lessons! And there’s no way I’m getting him both!

Finally, ladies… Does this shopping scenario sound familiar? I have a feeling it does. There’s still time to do the right thing. Remember, it’s the season of giving. Give your man what he really wants, not what you want him to have… Put a 360 under the tree.

Well guys, I did my part. And I hope my wife picked up on the many subtle messages I left in this post. My fingers are crossed for yet another Christmas miracle.

I put it off as long as I could. When I first laid eyes on the 360, it was really love at first sight. But a lot of guys felt that way about her. The 360 was sleek and beautiful… and completely out of my league. There were so many other dudes vying for her attention in WalMart that day, I figured I didn’t have a chance.

But I rolled the dice, and brushed my way past the 14 year-olds ogling the more superficial features of the 360. I complimented the 360 on her processor, and her hard drive, and made it clear I was interested in her mind as well as her console. They say that video game systems can’t resist a man with confidence, and it was certainly true in this instance.

The 360 and I had so much in common, and we hit it off immediately. There was a palpable electricity running through us, although mine was more metaphorical in nature. Ultimately, we decided to be more than friends. However, before we could begin a hopefully long-term relationship, we both agreed I needed to break things off with the Xbox.

Like most men, I briefly fantasized with the notion of how great it would be to play with two video game systems at once. Of course, I doubt either system would be cool with that arrangement. Sometimes you hear about the exploits of hardcore gamers, and the mind wanders a little. Ultimately though, I think these things are best left to the imagination.

Anyway, last night, the Xbox and I had The Talk. While it was certainly painful, it was better than having the Xbox stumble across the 360 and I sneaking around behind her back to spend an intimate evening together. That would have been awkward for everyone.

It’s just too bad it had to end this way. I always thought that only a fried motherboard could possibly derail our relationship. My Xbox and I sure had some good times. Like when we beat Halo on the “legendary” setting. To this day, this achievement continues to impress prospective employers in job interviews. Together, we battled terrorists, aliens, and super-villains. We literally saved the universe hundreds of times. I told the Xbox we could still be friends, and I meant it.

But it’s time to move on. While the 360 is certainly capable of playing the old Xbox games, I think it might be a little disrespectful for me do so. I don’t want the 360 to think I’m harboring any feelings for the Xbox. For that reason, I’m also going to take down all the pictures of the Xbox and I on display in my living room. I want the 360 to know I’m committed to this relationship.

A long time ago I spoke of the daily battle of life. C’mon, you remember. The grueling pursuit to secure a small portion of sanity during our brief stay in this cruel world. You know, the one where our only hope is to shine as bright as possible while the dwindling fuse of the cosmic big bang burns down. Ring any bells yet?

Well the thing is, I forgot to pay tribute in that commentary to the fallen soldiers, our gone but not forgotten comrades. In other words, those whose necks have already been guillotined by the sharp steel blade of time. In that vast sea of corpses, I know of no product or commodity that has seen a worse fate than that of the original Xbox Communicator headset. The number of casualties is astounding, yet profound and inspiring at the same time. But the struggle continues and I know for a fact that right now, as I type this, more death and disfigurement is underway.

Look within yourselves Zillionaires, for now is a moment of reflection, reverence, and respect for the dead and wounded. I present the Xbox Headset Graveyard photo gallery:

The Chizzler’s Headset


War is ugly and this photo proves it. A mixture human hair, skunk fur, muck, and duct tape keep headset together at the moment. I feel half dead just wearing it.

Send me photos of your dead or dying headsets and I’ll add them to this post. Or post an epitaph in the comments. Rest in peace, Xbox Communicators.