NASA Drops Vintage Gaming Console in Desert

eeks nationwide made an embarrassing collective sound last Wednesday as they recoiled in terror at the news that NASA’s experimental Sega Genesis gaming console, the first home video game system to be shot into space, had crash landed in the Utah desert after the 16-bit console’s parachutes failed to open upon re-entry into Earth’s atmosphere.

“This is a fucking disaster!� recoiled 28-year-old vintage gaming dweeb Chance Lambeau, wearing an Alex Kidd in Miracle World tee shirt he had silk-screened at great personal expense. “Finally, the world was going to get to see what the Genesis was really capable off, from its innovative System 16 processor to its wide library of classic games, but NASA had to screw the pooch and slam dunk the thing in the Alkali Salt Flats. Jeez. Game over, man.�

The Genesis has long held a special place in the hearts of video game geeks, ever since debuting in 1989 as the US’s first 16-bit gaming console for the home market. Offering a huge step up in performance from the popular 8-bit consoles of the day, including the much-loved Nintendo Entertainment System and the much settled-for Sega Master System, the Genesis opened up a new world of arcade-like gaming for spoiled white kids everywhere. And it came with Altered Beast.

NASA first conceived of sending a Genesis into space in 2000, with the stated goal of “doing some science stuff� and finding out if Sonic the Hedgehog would play faster in zero gravity. Though the sheer number of vintage gaming geeks employed by NASA made this explanation plausible to most, many believed the Genesis was simply the most advanced piece of equipment that NASA could afford due to severe budgetary cutbacks. According to unconfirmed sources, NASA picked up the Genesis console at a Cape Canaveral-area flea market for $10.

While NASA scientists insist that the Genesis mission was primarily about using the console’s unique chip architecture to collect solar dust or something, critics have called the mission an expensive excuse for NASA engineers to reminisce about their childhood console-gaming days, and to beat their old high score on Revenge of Shinobi in the name of science. Several have also pointed to NASA’s choice of the Dugway Proving Grounds in Utah for the Genesis re-entry, a location close to the hearts of retro gaming geeks ever since it inspired the early video game classic Dig-Dug.

Regardless of the mission’s true intent, NASA’s plan to catch the re-entering console using helicopters flown by Hollywood stunt pilots drew widespread skepticism even before the Genesis went down like a Walkman into the toilet.

“What were they thinking?� sneered console gaming guru Ben “Game Genie� Wilmington. “They were going to cherry-pick that thing out of the sky with helicopters while it screamed toward the earth and unbelievable speeds? That’s stupid, even for NASA. Those guys have been playing way too much Choplifter.�

Others have reacted with surprise to photos of the crash site and the Genesis’ impact crater in Utah’s salt flats, claiming that the Genesis pictured appears much larger than a standard model, and may have been warped by the effects of space travel. NASA scientists insist that a regular Genesis console was used, and claim to have the original warranty card in a box somewhere to prove it. Physicist Cole Janson also pointed out that outdated technology always seems smaller in memory, reminding readers that early VCRs were roughly the size of today’s microwave ovens.

NASA is still debating what to do with the broken console. The original scenario called for the Genesis to be transported back to NASA headquarters under armed guard immediately following touchdown, just in time for a heated tournament of NHL Hockey ‘94 that NASA scientists had been anticipating for months.

“We were really looking forward to having the Genesis back,� admitted a crestfallen Roger Neumann, Genesis project manager. “Now I don’t know what we’re going to do. Sweeney thinks we should sell what’s left for spare parts on eBay and pick up a Playstation instead, but most everybody here was pretty attached to the games we already had. Here at NASA, we’re not all about technology for technology’s sake, you know. Flashy graphics can only count for so much. We’ll figure out something though, we’re NASA. Maybe a quick trip to the moon would help lift everyone’s spirits. Couldn’t hurt.�

ne of baseball’s most time-honored traditions came under fire this week after numerous fans were injured during the Oakland Athletics’ yearly “Every Fan Gets a Chair Day� promotion. This year’s incarnation ended in a tragic photo-op when Tuesday’s game with the Texas Rangers came to a stop after Texas reliever Frank Francisco hand-delivered one fan her chair at a high rate of speed, both breaking her nose and possibly damaging the highly-collectable folding chair.

This latest bloody melee to rock the Oakland Coliseum has caused some to question the wisdom of giving drunken fans and emotionally unstable ballplayers metal folding chairs in the first place, a conclusion that Oakland fan Steve Teehan feels is misguided.

“Don’t jump the gun and assume that Chair Day is a bad thing just because a bunch of people get the shit beaten out of them with chairs every year,� explained Teehan, bleeding profusely from a chair-shaped gash in his forehead. “This is tradition, and families love it. I still remember the first time my dad took me to a Chair Day game, and he got arrested for braining the pretzel vendor over an exact-change dispute. We don’t want to rob our kids of these memories just because the riot police are too lazy to do their job.�

“I have a chair from every season since the A’s moved from Philly,� bragged local packrat Lester Chumrow, who is constantly being bombarded with chair-borrowing requests every time someone he knows throws a wedding or opens an AA chapter.

“Hey, don’t sit on that!� Chumrow repeated, a variation on his near-constant mantra.

Though fans are nearly unanimous in their support for the popular promotion, some in the Oakland organization have tired of the yearly spectacle.

“You give these assholes free chairs and then nobody wants to sit in their assigned seat,� complained beer vendor Hershel Lucas, bitching profusely from the mouth. “Everybody’s got some bright idea about how they’re gonna sit in their new folding chair and block the whole aisle, or some princess wants to put his feet up. Then you get the wiseasses who stack their folding chair on top of their regular seat to get a better view, and inevitably the guy sitting behind him has to push the whole mess over the railing just to see some close play at the plate.�

In the aftermath of Tuesday’s melee, which included the first reversal of the usual fan-to-field flow of thrown chairs in recent memory, officials for both teams have sounded off on whether blame for the incident should lie with Oakland fans or the Texas pitcher Francisco.

“Actually, Athletics fans are really polite,� insisted A’s vice president of stadium operations Dave Rinetti, while ducking under a chair flung from the upper deck. After a shouted “Sorry!� echoed down from the nosebleed seats, Rinetti waved a dismissal “It’s cool� in response, smiling meekly. “You should try coming here during a Raiders game. Those animals will throw you at the chairs.�

While the Rangers have claimed that Francisco had little choice but to defend his honor from vicious Oakland hecklers when he let the chair fly, some have questioned what exactly was said to the Dominican-born pitcher, and whether it was even said by either the fan whose cranium first deflected the chair or the woman who ended up with the WWF-style rhinoplasty.

“All I heard was her yelling some shit about how Francisco had mountain goat balls,� testified Oakland fan Teresa Marks, who was seated nearby. “I don’t even know what that means, but maybe he’s sensitive about his balls or something.�

“Nah, man, I heard she said his mama was Eric Chavez’s bitch,� contradicted fellow fan Sam Wilkinson, heaving a promotional chair at a security guard. “That’s cold. I’ve definitely thrown chairs for less than that.�

Francisco, who was somehow singled out for arrest during the stadium-wide chair throwing melee, claims he yelled a fair warning of “Duck, bitch!� before hurling the chair. Rangers officials expect video footage of the incident to prove Francisco’s alibi once the case goes to trial.

Dear readers, I have never been a religious man. I have trouble believing in anything I cannot see, unless it is revealed to me by a trustworthy patron of a familiar bar. But all that has changed—I am now a believer, for I have been touched by an angel. Or not quite touched. Pulverized might be the word for it.

Yes, there is a God, and he deemed I should get the beating of a lifetime to prove it. Or, it's possible, there isn't a God, there's just the dead. Bodiless apparitions hauling ass here and there in our corporeal world, and occasionally taking time out of their schedule to kick our asses. Maybe there's a God, and if that's what he wanted to impress on me, just send me a warning. Not the full-blown throttling I already received, just a slap across the face or something. Just to really drive home the point.

Come to think of it, I'm not really sure what the angel wanted to impart to me. He didn't say much. More of the "talks with his fists" type. But you can't really make a point that way, not a coherent one anyway. He growled and ranted and muttered things here or there, but they mostly concerned some guy named Donnie and the money Donnie owes him. I suppose he thought I was Donnie, it was hard to tell with a ghostly fist boxing my ears.

You may be thinking I have surely seen ghosts before, or had otherworldly encounters—aliens, the sasquatch, time-travelers from the future. And then there's my dead reporter friend Mordecai "Three-Finger" Brown, but frankly I've never believed he was really dead, it all just seemed like a tax dodge. None of that prepared me for seeing a real, actual ghost in my bedroom, demanding from me money I didn't have, and then wiping the bedroom floor with me.

It began as a simple enough evening, in my matching red pajamas and nightcap, monogrammed, of course, turning in for bed. I had clapped off the lights and turned my TV to the late-show reruns of M*A*S*H that I so love. I must have dozed off, because I woke up to complete darkness and the sound of drunken mumbling. I could hear also, beneath the drunk talk, the sound of footsteps. I opened my eyes, but could see nothing but darkness. Then, I saw the outline of a hunched-over figure, and heard him dragging his heels toward my bed. At first, I thought it was Rascal, my manservant, playing another prank, but then I realized Rascal is quite the big fellow, and this figure was more of a modest size, like myself. Then I thought it was me, playing some gag on myself, but that made no sense.

Before I could figure out exactly what was happening, a cold hand grabbed my leg. Then, I was yanked out of bed and pummeled. Icy dead knuckles, like the hand of a skeleton, smacked the hell out of my face, fattened my lip, blackened my eye, and held me down against the hard wood floor. I tried to get up, but he couldn't hear my pleas while he was rambling about his money.

Being the investigator I am, I immediately went to find out as much as I could about the penthouse apartment I live in. Quite a fascinating history, if you must know. It turns out a very successful man named Gatsby once lived there, a long time ago, and may have even been the Gatsby F. Scott Fitzgerald based his character on, at least I've heard great things about him. He was a well-to-do-man, like myself, and very generous, which is where the comparison ends. But those who remember him, like the door man to my building, stress that while Gatsby had been a very generous man, he didn't just give things away. He expected to all debts to be repaid, and apparently had a hell of a drinking problem. I grew excited right away, and was asked to step away from the door. A ghost of a man much like myself! I can't wait to find out more.

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