How Not to Deal with the Red Ring of Death

New column up at Cracked, dealing with that most painful, humiliating, shameful of issues: Gaming Dysfunction. I myself was recently molested by the RROD, and I hope my harrowing tale helps anybody else out there suffering from this. No, no don’t call me a hero – I am just a man. Digg it here, to let other RRODees know they’re not alone! Take back the night!

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6 Responses to How Not to Deal with the Red Ring of Death

  1. Muledriver says:

    “Would you like to sign up for our Blaster Points card?” the pushy virgin-king at the register asked me.

  2. Couzin Vinny says:

    I loved that article. I got the RRD last year. Couldn’t sleep for 4 days.

    Also, I would like to take this moment to praise you and your amazing ‘stache. I love you. You are my best friend.

    I pre-ordered your book.

  3. wetbandid says:

    “HI, HOW ARE YOU?” I bellow and simultaneously lament the fact that there is no bigger Capitation than CAPS. Fuck you CAPS LOCK! Anyways I should warn you, Robert, about one of your fans named “cousin Vinny”. He is about one brain cell away from a retard who just by random circumstances came into possession of a flame thrower. His IQ is just one (1) point higher than a pretty daisy flower. His mindset resembles that of a raped than afterwards burned stuffed rabbit. Heed my warning Robert. For the sake of… oh hey Vinny… what’s eh.. what’s up? What is that?
    I hereby declare that Cousin Vinny is great and statues should be raised in his honor. Loved the article too. Loved it all. All of it.

  4. Couzin Vinny says:

    Oh… oh you suck…
    I know who you are, and I’m coming for you.

  5. Couzin Vinny says:

    And I am NOT in possession of a flamethrower… Dickwad

  6. Jim says:

    The best thing to do when you get RROD is to go to your nearest Wal-Mart, bring your X-Box up the service desk, and tell them you bought it there a few weeks before, but lost the receipt.

    If they ask for identification, simply pull your pants down, bend over the counter, and begin screaming “What does a guy have to do to get a prostate massage around here?”

    They may even throw in a free case of Sam’s Cola if you time it just right.

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