“’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. . .” I can honestly say that there are plenty of creatures stirring here, late this evening. I’ve described the tentative events that were supposed to occur and they did - almost exactly the way I stated. My batteries are pretty much depleted and I’m acting on impulse power. I did manage to sneak in about an hour or so of Borderlands, while the ladies were out doing some last minute acquisitions.
I have to upgrade my weaponry, even with large magazines I have to reload, which can lead to an early demise. This happened at an uncanny rate in scenarios that I had previously had a better success rate. The brute character, a heavily upgraded bruiser, needs in excess of sixty rounds of rifle ammo @150-160 points of damage per shot. Meanwhile my shield seems to vanish quickly if my opponents are firing from near by.
Although the turret gun is usually a lifesaver, if I don’t deploy it at the right time some of the suicide characters blow past the gun and hit me. I have stopped running up to a group of foes to throw down my turret gun, the beat a hasty retreat to wait for the turret gun to do its thing. I think that caused my death three times in four attempts.
Well, I guess you can ditto my wishes to you from yesterday’s post, and I hope you have “just settled down for a long winter's nap. . .”
Quotes from the poem “The Night Before Christmas”
by Clement Clarke Moore (attributed to him in 1823) or Henry Livingston (claims made by his family to have an earlier date - 1808 as per a Don Foster).
Nothing like a controversy to make an occasion a bit more interesting.
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