Being of sound mind and body, I will now attempt to review The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn -- Part II with as little foreknowledge of the book and film series' as possible. Hang on.

Taking one for the team here, folks.

A funny thing happened during this experiment. I tried, and eventually failed, to keep track of how many times I said, out-loud, "This is fucked up." Not yelled, or laughed, but just said, in a normal speaking voice, "This is fucked up," while watching The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn -- Part II. Let's talk about why.

Okay, so, how bad can it be, right? Optimism! Always give cultural watersheds the chance to win you over -- The Hunger Games acting as a good indicator that things can still surprise me. With no prior reading or viewing experience of the Twilight franchise, save for the funny but still-painful Twilight 1 Rifftrax, which taught me that a mustache is a big responsibility, I made the brazen decision to watch this here final Twilight movie. For science! I'm a smart guy, I can figure out what's going on! Something this popular can't be complicated. I know it's about chastity and vampires and mustaches, and I know that their names are Edward and Bella, and I don't care about how or why the girl hooks up with a werewolf while her vampire boyfriend is away. Just tell me how it ends! Do they finally fuck? Do they finally fight? Does Kristen Stewart finally install her emotion chip and stop tottering around like she has two left wooden feet?

Perhaps, most pertinent, is it actually bad?

In short, it's bad in ways you couldn't have possibly imagined. If this is adored by millions, we really do have a concussion problem in this country.

To borrow a phrase, somebody "modded" the environment code last weekend. Reality had been messed with. On Wednesday, everything was normal. When I woke up on Saturday though, I slung open the blinds to see the settings had been updated:

Friction: VERY LOW
Snow levels: HIGH
Professional obligations: LOW
Vehicle traffic: FALSE
Age at heart: 10-12

grumpiness: Override?value=1

That brought the total snowfall in Boston to: 21.8"

Like a disposable rectal thermometer, that's one more football season tossed to the garbage. What, you didn't realize your yearly checkup is complete!? Sure was! Yeeacch, we're still sick.

A videogame can't be emotionally-draining. This thing here is emotionally-draining. The Walking Dead isn't a videogame.

The Walking Dead game, made by Telltale Games, based on the comics of the same name, is a disturbing plunge into interactive storytelling and it rips up definitions. It will make you feel terrible. It will make you feel terrible things.

This is a videogame tagged under the draconian "adventure" genre, Telltale's signature, meaning you've probably got supplies to collect, venues to comb through, and a story to progress through, eschewing action in favor of situational puzzles. Let's just get this out of the way. This isn't a videogame. And it's not an adventure.

There are video games that are fun to lull through. The relaxers. Journey. Flower.

These are not those games. These are the spinning augers of competition that slap you awake and demand your attention with a crackling cattle prod. There's no napping on these titles. If you're feeling sleepy or need to get fired up, throw in one of these guys (or gals) and you'll be raring to go:

What is it about bumming around the Internet that makes us so blasé to the point of grumpiness?

Ages ago, when the Internet was an isolated thing that you could "do," and that box that made it "be" made loud fax machine sounds, mothers warned kids not to be a pricks when online. Or to tell those anonymous, nerd-lusty troglodytes where you actually lived for really-reals, because the bad ones were truly out to getcha!

The NFL playoffs are a go! Man, it sure does suck that all of the games this last weekend went the opposite way I had hoped. That's alright though, I had no chicken in any of those cockfights. The Pats don't play until this weekend. Coincidentally, they're playing the Texans again, which made me recall the last time they played the Texas on a Monday night game.

Fucking Monday Night Football, man.

Watching Monday Night Football on ESPN is like going home for Christmas if your family lived inside of a giant whale. Not only is it a giant whale, it's the most popular whale in the world! Normally you just check out the whale when it swims by. What a majestic animal! I'd prefer to observe whales from the outside. It's less horrifying. However, on this occasion, you have to go home, into the whale, and sit on its tongue while you watch its insides churn with the assistance of an efficient, transparent bile.

Okay, wow, 2012 is done -- did everybody have fun? Not just in that last night where we saw Ryan Seacrest ceremoniously becoming the welcome host-husk to Dick Clark's frozen brain so that he may live for another century. No, I'm sure everybody's New Year's Eve was enjoyable. Mine was. I saw our bar's drunk owner make a three minute speech about the Fiscal Cliff to some light laughter and some good natured heckling. Then some wide-lipped woman started shouting about being a well-informed Republican, and she had to leave with her weird prehensile tail between her legs a few minutes before the ball dropped.

"Dr Pepper Ten is flavor's artistic opposite."

There are 20 calories in a 20 oz. bottle of Dr Pepper Ten. By that logic, they could have called it anything.

In short, TNNS can be described as Super Pong Bros. 3, and can only be played on a touch-screen.

TNNS is a decision-engine, but not for you. Your decision is a question with one answer that is asked every half-second.

Is the ball coming at you? If "yes," put your paddle on it.

If "no," then the question will be asked again in 0.5 seconds.

If you can answer that question, The Game Will Continue To Exist. The objective is to continue. Right? Right! Right. People with salaries are looking at spreadsheets right now (probably in California!), trying to figure out how game-ify things that people would rather not be doing. The theory goes, those some people might be alright doing those undesirable things if their actions were being quantified with numbers. They're ostensibly trying to make "continuation" more tangible -- to make it a finer grade of sand.

Being is boring. The infinite number of decimal points between integers 1 and 2 is not. Right? Right?!