[ANDREW]: Talk more about what a hack the Edge is
Oh god. This shmuck. Oh hey look at me, I'm the Edge; I'm going to rig my guitar up to so many echo and delay effects that I just have to strum once and the chord repeats itself until I need to switch to a different one. Hurr hurr look at me I'm not actually playing my guitar! I'm "filling in the notes that aren't there!" Hee hee!
No, Mr. The Edge, the way you fill in "notes that aren't there" is by ACTUALLY PLAYING THEM. You are a hack and the fact that you're trying to present yourself as an actual guitarist is an insult to real guitarists everywhere. Those pedals are for shaping tone and using your guitar to paint a soundscape, not for playing the friggin' guitar for you. Experimentation and trying new things is great, but this isn't experimentation - this is called FAKING IT. You are FAKING IT, Mr. The Edge.
Grrr ###### piece of ####### ############# #### granny smith #### ##### mango #### #### #### poundey pound pound
[ANDREW]: Calm down
Love, man. All you need is love. Chill, brah. Ob-la-di, ob-la-da.
You know, there's one thing that always calms you down when you get anxious...
[S] [ANDREW]: ###### Jam
(Do tell if this doesn't work for you!!)
[ANDREW]: Unlock Theme Song Achievement
Aw yiss. You are a ROCK STAR.
[ANDREW]: Make like Pete Townshend on that hot seafoam Telecaster
Wait, wait stop!
Come on Pete, or Paul, cut that out.
You couldn't do that to your SEA FOAM GREEN FENDER TELECASTER. This instrument is your LIFE. It is the most beautiful of all guitars, oh yes it is. Aren't you the sweetest and most rocking of all instruments, aren't you, girl? Oh yes you are. Kisses for you. Muchas Smooches.
[ANDREW]: Captchalogue Guitar
You sing "Guitar and Pen" by the Who.
"When you sing through the verse and you end in a scream
And you swear and you curse 'cause the rhyming ain't clean
But it suddenly comes after years of delay
You pick up your guitar, you can suddenly play"
The GUITAR is snatched by your SYLLADEX and stored in a CAPTCHLAGOUE CARD with the LYRIC MODUS. With the Lyric Modus, you must sing a song relating to the item you wish to captchalogue. It doesn't need to be wholly literal, but the modus can be persnickety. You usually sing the Beatles' "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," but the Sylladex sometimes finds that one too existential.
[ANDREW]: Fix your hair
[ANDREW]: Check your cell phone
Looks like you got a message from PI, one of your close FRIENDS. Friends are the best. You don't know what you'd do without your friends, always there for you, always providing support and laughs and good times. Most of your best pals live out of town, some of them even in different countries, so it's good to have phones and computers to keep in touch with them. To be honest, keeping in touch with friends is about the extent of your ability with technology - well technology that isn't musical, anyway.
Truthfully, that's part of what worries you about this whole GAME thing. Sure, playing something with your friends sounds great, but you don't really do video games. You just can't keep up with anyone when you're coerced into playing a video game - all the buttons and the motion and the lights and graphics confuse you. Maybe your motors skills are underdeveloped, or maybe you just suck at them instrinsically, but video games are just too much for you to handle. Ray and company managed to convince you to play along with them, but inside, you're very worried you're going to blow the whole thing and upset everyone.
[ANDREW]: Wax poetic with yon skull
"Ah, now is the winter of our discontent, made - " ... wait, wrong play
"If music be the food of love, play - " ... wait, not, still not right
"To be or not to - " ... wait, okay, getting closer
"ALAS, POOR YORICK. I KNEW HIM, HORATIO. A FELLOW OF INFINITE JEST, OF MOST EXCELLENT FANCY; HE HATH BORE ME ON HIS BACK A THOUSAND TIMES." There we go.
Haha, just kidding, you have that whole play memorized; you even directed it once.
"And yet, how abhorred in my imagination is is. My gourd rims at it! Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? Your songs? Your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? Quite chap-fallen. Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come...make her laugh at that."
Oh Yorick...dear, sweet Yorick.
[ANDREW]: Examine record collection
Ahhh, vinyl...music the way it's meant to be. CDs and mp3 players are great for convenience, when you're on the go...but when you want to really sit back and EXPERIENCE the music, you need to listen to it on a record. The warm analog sound caresses and consumes you, like a gentle, loving zephyr of auditory sensory experience. Music sets you free.
You have about 300 records, crossing all kinds of genres - from jazz to blues to rock'n'roll and everything in-between. The fact that you can grab them for a dollar apiece at the local used bookstore feeds your addiction. One time you got a pristine double-LP album of Tommy Dorsey Orchestra songs, some featuring a young Frank Sinatra on vocals, for TEN CENTS. The record hadn't even been opened. It was a grand day. Of course even that doesn't beat the time you got the entire Velvet Underground discography from a shady guy on a street corner in the city. That pretty much COMPLETED YOUR LIFE.
You pull a record off the shelf at random. LED ZEPPELIN's fourth! A boss choice. Let's give 'er a listen...