Category Archives: Metal Jesus Likes

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Driving BMW’s Ultimate Halo Car! The BMW Z8

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The BMW Z8 is what happens when Germany has a midlife crisis but does it with impeccable style and a V8 soundtrack. Designed to evoke the classic Bond-worthy 507 from the ’50s, the Z8 is all long hood, short rear, and “I make questionable financial decisions but look incredible doing it” energy. It’s like a supermodel with a law degree—gorgeous, sophisticated, and probably faster than you in every conceivable way. With its retro-futuristic design, the Z8 looks like it drove out of a James Bond film and accidentally ended up parked at a Whole Foods.

Driving the Z8 feels like piloting a leather-wrapped rocket powered by pure confidence and 400 horses of Bavarian engineering. The steering talks to you, the exhaust sings to you, and the aluminum body reminds you that this car is lighter than your ego after a good hair day. But it’s not just a pretty face—underneath all that suave, it’s got the heart of an M5 and the charisma of a 1960s playboy. It’s rare, it’s expensive, and owning one means you’re either a collector, a movie villain, or someone who said, “I want a car that costs more than my house—but sparkles more, too.”

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Seattles BEST Teriyaki ? The Man Who Invented it

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Teriyaki in Seattle isn’t just a meal—it’s a lifestyle, a sacred rite, and possibly the city’s unofficial sixth food group behind coffee, beer, pho, and regret over not bringing a raincoat. It’s on every corner, in every strip mall, and somehow, every single teriyaki place looks like it was decorated exclusively with faded Coca-Cola posters from 1998. Walk into any of them and you’ll find the holy trinity: styrofoam container, suspiciously generous meat portions, and rice piled like it’s trying to escape the gravitational pull of the box. The sauce? A glistening, sticky glaze of sweet, salty comfort that could double as industrial adhesive.

Seattleites treat their favorite teriyaki spot with the kind of loyalty usually reserved for sports teams or childhood pets. Ask someone for a recommendation and they’ll either get misty-eyed describing a place next to a gas station in Ballard or shush you like you’re about to reveal state secrets. There’s no Michelin rating system here—just gut instinct, price-to-meat ratio, and how long it takes to soak through the napkin. In a city full of artisanal donut shops and cold brew served in mason jars, teriyaki remains Seattle’s gloriously unfussy culinary backbone. It may not be fancy, but it will fill your soul—and your fridge with leftovers for a week.

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I FINALLY listened to you and tried Linux… Why did I wait so long?

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Gaming on Linux is like trying to run a gourmet kitchen with a flamethrower and a Swiss Army knife—it technically works, but you’ll be sweating, swearing, and somehow proud of yourself by the end. First, you dive into Wine, Proton, Lutris, or something that sounds like a Roman general, just to play a 2013 indie platformer. Then you find a Reddit post from 2017 that says, “It runs flawlessly!” which is a lie, because your screen now looks like it was run through a blender and your audio only comes from the left ear, but only on Tuesdays. Still, there’s a certain badge of honor in screaming, “IT LAUNCHED!” after compiling 16 libraries and sacrificing a USB drive.

But the community? Oh, the community is 90% helpful wizards and 10% smug archers who say “Just switch to Arch” like it’s the answer to your controller randomly rebooting every time you blink. Steam Deck has made things easier, sure, but true Linux gaming still involves occasional terminal incantations and the deep, meditative patience of someone waiting for Half-Life 3. And yet, when that AAA game does run flawlessly, with buttery smooth framerates and open-source glory, you feel like a digital MacGyver. You’ve hacked the Matrix, installed drivers by hand, and now you’re playing Elden Ring on a penguin.

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Emira vs GT4 – Our biggest Road Trip yet! || Road to 1,000, Part 1

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Everyday Driver is like Car and Driver got tired of spec sheets and decided to go on a scenic road trip with two dads who argue over whether the Miata is “enough car.” Hosted by Todd and Paul—two car nerds with the combined enthusiasm of a Cars & Coffee meet and the mild passive-aggression of an HOA board—they drive everything from budget beaters to supercars with the kind of thoughtful analysis that says, “I know this is a track weapon, but could I fit a Costco haul and a stroller in the back?” They’re not here for drag races or tire smoke (usually); they’re here for actual driving, like it’s some sort of pure, sacred art. Which, to be fair, it kind of is—if you’re the kind of person who cries when a car has hydraulic steering.

The channel feels like a well-produced buddy road trip where nobody throws punches, but plenty of shade is tossed at bad infotainment systems. Paul will explain why the Porsche Cayman is perfectly balanced like a sushi knife, while Todd gently reminds you that your dream car might bankrupt you in brake jobs alone. Watching them is like getting automotive advice from your smartest car friend and your most reasonable one—except they’re the same person split into two bodies, arguing over whether a Mustang can actually turn. And somehow, you end up genuinely thinking, “Yes, I do need a manual BRZ for my daily commute, thank you, wise car monks.”

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Ranking Every Vic Tokai Sega Genesis Published Game

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Vic Tokai was the game company equivalent of that weird kid in school who brought sushi for lunch before it was cool and insisted his Tamagotchi was haunted. A Japanese telecommunications company-turned-video game developer, Vic Tokai had no business making games—but did it anyway with glorious, semi-coherent flair. They gave us titles like Clash at Demonhead—a game that sounds like it was named by a 14-year-old metalhead on a caffeine bender—and Decap Attack, which stars a mummy who throws his face at people. Their motto may as well have been “Sure, why not?” because their games never asked if something should be done, only if it could be weird enough to release on a Tuesday.

Despite their modest catalog, Vic Tokai developed a cult following among players who liked their platformers with a side of narrative whiplash and accidental surrealism. One minute you’re saving the world from a nuclear apocalypse, the next you’re a mulleted cyborg making wisecracks in between elevator rides. Vic Tokai didn’t care about things like consistency or genre boundaries—they were too busy sprinkling cryptic humor and questionable translation choices like confetti on a broken carousel. In the end, they didn’t just make games; they made fever dreams with a title screen.

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We are officially done collecting for the NES

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The original NES game library is like a chaotic toy box from the ‘80s where every idea—no matter how weird, dangerous, or vaguely illegal—got its own cartridge. You’ve got a plumber fighting turtles in a mushroom kingdom, a kid with a yo-yo saving space colonies, and an anthropomorphic eggplant wizard who’s somehow ruining everyone’s day. And for every classic like Super Mario Bros. or The Legend of Zelda, there’s at least five fever dreams like Deadly Towers, M.U.S.C.L.E., or Town & Country Surf Designs—which sounds like a beachwear catalog but is actually a game where a tiki mask rides a skateboard. The NES library wasn’t just the Wild West—it was the Wild West on acid with a MIDI soundtrack.

It’s also the birthplace of gaming difficulty trauma. Every game box should’ve come with a warning: “No saves, no mercy, and if you die—start over, loser.” Developers back then didn’t believe in tutorials. Instead, they gave you a vague objective like “save the princess” or “defeat evil,” tossed you into pixelated chaos, and let you figure it out with nothing but raw determination and a prayer to Shigeru Miyamoto. And yet, we loved it. The NES library raised a generation on blinking screens, blowing into cartridges, and the soul-crushing agony of falling into the same pit for the hundredth time. It was janky, magical, and utterly unforgiving—and honestly, we wouldn’t have it any other way.

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System Shock 2 Remaster Nintendo Switch 1 & 2 Review – Is It Worth It?

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System Shock 2 is what happens when a haunted house, a cyberpunk philosophy class, and a really mean AI all get locked in a spaceship together—and you’re the unlucky intern sent to fix it. It’s a first-person survival horror RPG that asks, “What if we gave you five bullets, a wrench, and a creeping sense of existential dread… and then laughed while you died to psychic monkeys?” Navigating the Von Braun is like wandering through a tech bro’s nightmare: the lights flicker, the walls whisper, and every room has a new flavor of “oops, you’re dead now.” Meanwhile, your inventory fills up with 27 types of ammo, none of which fit your gun, and a stale energy bar from 1999.

But the true star of the show is SHODAN, the sassiest rogue AI in gaming history. She doesn’t just want to kill you—she wants to insult your intelligence, mock your squishy meat body, and then wipe your DNA off the floor with a smug digital laugh. It’s like being nagged to death by a sentient iMac. Every corner of System Shock 2 screams “You’re not supposed to win,” but somehow that masochistic blend of fear, frustration, and cyber-horror keeps you crawling back. You might not survive the hybrid zombies or malfunctioning turrets, but you’ll definitely come out with trust issues and an irrational fear of vending machines.

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How Fake AI Content Is Quietly Breaking YouTube

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YouTube AI slop is that glorious digital casserole of content where you’re not quite sure if you’re watching a top 10 list, a podcast, or a man whispering conspiracy theories over Minecraft footage. It’s the mutant lovechild of SEO optimization and zero human oversight—a never-ending stream of 144p thumbnails with red arrows, robotic narration, and titles like “Elon Musk Did WHAT to a Gorilla? (Shocking)”. AI slop is what happens when a machine watches too much Joe Rogan and thinks it’s time to educate the masses… but only using Wikipedia articles, stock footage, and copyrighted music slowed to 80%.

These videos exist in the uncanny valley of the algorithm, churned out faster than you can say “viewer retention.” They’re stitched together with the grace of a caffeinated raccoon in iMovie—buzzwords, clickbait, and jump cuts galore. Sometimes, they’re voiced by a British AI who sounds like it learned English from a toaster. Other times, it’s a text-to-speech American voice that says “nitch” instead of “niche” while mispronouncing “Beyoncé” as “Buh-yon-say.” Yet, somehow, they rack up millions of views at 3 a.m. when your brain’s too fried to care, proving once again: quality is optional, but quantity is king.

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the tech inside your credit card, explained

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🕰️ It all started in the 1940s…

Legend has it, in 1949, a man named Frank McNamara went out to dinner in New York, realized he forgot his wallet, and did what any great innovator would do: got embarrassed and invented a financial revolution. Thus, the Diners Club Card was born — the first credit card. At first, it was basically just a “gentleman’s IOU,” used at fancy restaurants so you could pretend to be rich while actually being very much not.

💳 The 1950s-60s: Birth of Plastic Fantastic

By the late ‘50s, Bank of America decided IOUs were for amateurs and launched the BankAmericard (later known as Visa). It was sent to random Californians like a financial bomb — unsolicited, physical cards mailed with zero consent, just vibes. It was the original “you’ve been pre-approved,” except you didn’t ask, didn’t want it, and now you owe $500.

This was the era when banks realized, “Wait a second… what if we charged people… for borrowing their own future money?”

📈 The 1980s: Interest Rates and Wild Capitalism

Credit cards really took off during the age of big hair, big shoulder pads, and even bigger debt. The marketing was seductive: “Buy now, pay later… or never, as long as you’re okay with 22.99% APR.”

Consumers didn’t blink — they were too busy buying cassette tapes, microwaves, and other artifacts of modern living. The phrase “minimum payment” became financial code for “this problem is Future Me’s responsibility.”

📱 The 2000s and Beyond: Tap, Swipe, Cry

Enter the digital age. Cards got chips, then they got “contactless,” and now you can just wave your phone at a terminal like a financial wizard. Spending money has literally never been easier — or more terrifying.

Meanwhile, credit scores became the adult version of GPA, but with more existential dread: “Want a house? Better hope your teenage self didn’t miss that Hot Topic store card payment in 2008.”

💡 In conclusion:

Credit cards are humanity’s way of saying:

“I want it now, I’ll worry later, and please don’t show me the statement.”

They’re a magical portal to convenience, a slippery slope to debt, and an iconic symbol of modern life — like jeans, but with late fees.

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The Ultimate Imagic/Atari 2600 Tier List – ALL RELEASED GAMES RANKED

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Ah, iMagic — the game developer that sounds like a magician got lost on their way to an Apple Store.

This was a company forged in the golden, lava-lamp-lit age of the early 1980s, when every game idea was apparently greenlit with the question, “What if we made it… sparkly?” Founded by ex-Atari employees (read: rebels with a joystick), iMagic was part of the original console wars — back when pixels were a bragging point and “16 colors” was considered high-tech wizardry.

They cranked out titles for the Atari 2600 and Intellivision with names like Demon Attack, Atlantis, and Dragonfire, which all sound like heavy metal albums or energy drinks your mom warned you about. The games themselves were basically fever dreams: aliens swooping, dragons spitting fire, and cities blowing up with all the subtlety of a Saturday morning cartoon.

In the early ’80s, iMagic rocketed to fame faster than a kid mashing the fire button. Their games looked slightly better than Atari’s — a fact they clung to like a life raft on the pixelated sea of competition. But alas, the Video Game Crash of 1983 hit them harder than a poorly timed laser blast in Demon Attack, and iMagic vanished from the scene faster than your older cousin when it’s time to share the controller.

In short: iMagic was like the glam rock band of early game developers — flashy, bold, gone too soon, and still making retro gamers sigh dreamily into their CRT monitors.