Pukemaster game

I found the walk animation a bit sketchy, but that's for you to decide. The GamePlay is simple scroller gameplay, but uses a lot of Exploration and Gunning down enemies, that many games like CastleVania and Metroid are famous for. This game is terrific, a must play. That's the game. In MabiGames' Saut, you repetitively tap the spacebar to cause your little black man to hop over obstacles to get to the end of each level. The graphics are just beautiful. They are so retro, yet so good.

This game was entered and placed in GameJolt's "Minimal" 1 week competition. The game has great replay value, and is just general fun. The coding is spectacular. Not only does this game stand out against many other GameMaker platformers, it was made in 1 week! For everyone loving Canabalt Flixel you should definetly play this game. Beauty, that's what this game is. You do escentially that. Run around through fast paced levels, smashing, jumping, running and hopping over crates, moving water, flying bombs, robots and hopping Anyway, the game is a beauty, and the GamePlay is great.

The enemy AI, which there really isn't any, so enemy patterns are so unique, and happen to move in different ways in each area, but add difficulty, make it just so Professional. There isn't much more to say as it's still incomplete, but It's going strong. This game is so random, it's funny. But so beautifully executed, and so perfectly done.

Zack has this thing for a TVSet effect, and implementing it into Puke! Except, instead of fleeing from "Death Worm" you are it, and it's brutal. In Leviathan Jesse Venbrux This guy created everything You try to get "Meat" by eating people. I never actually died, so I'm not sure if it's possible. The title screen just cracks me up. The creator obviously didn't sprite it, but It's ingenious none the less.

The game is more funny than scary, but it was more fun than everything. This game is amazing. It has over 5 hours of gameplay, and many different areas to explore, from a Castle, to a Desert to a Forest. But Daddy and I, well, we were about to start a whole new chapter in our lives. Daddy said that we had to think of ourselves as adventurers. We had to be brave. The next four years could determine the rest of your life.

What college you get into. What job you have. Daddy had taken half the day off from work so that we could shop during the week and miss the crazy Saturday afternoon crowd at the mall, and he was still wearing his BDUs.

Mother once said that when I was a toddler I used to think that every brown skinned man I saw in green and khaki camouflage was my father. I embarrassed her by running up to them in the commissary crying Daddy!

This made most men nervous, and most of their wives suspicious. Mother always had to make excuses for me as she pried my fingers off these strange soldiers. Now I could pick Daddy out of a crowd fifty yards away. His wide strut was unlike the stiff walk of other men. I leaned against him, hugging my purchases against my chest. Even though Daddy said that it was good to stand apart, I knew that sometimes it made you lonely. Daddy was going to be all alone in Selma.

I was lucky that I had Michael. Michael rang the door bell again and I knew he was getting impatient. Nothing could be more mortifying than having to sit with a complete stranger for twenty minutes all the way to school.

I begged Michael to ask Brian to take us to school in the used car he worked all summer to buy. There was no cooler way for a freshman to arrive to school but in the car of a senior.

What a boost it would be for our reputation! I pulled some toilet paper off the roll and wiped away my eye shadow. I tore the barrettes out of my hair, took off my white bobby socks and Mary Jane shoes and slipped on my white keds. He stopped at the corner, looked both ways and then turned to me. We were in sight of the bus stop, and the nine or ten kids milling around it, when Brian came cruising up behind us in his car.

Hop in. I looked at Michael and he looked down the street at the approaching bus. The kids were starting to line up. Yet, I could tell by the way Michael clenched and unclenched his fist around the shoulder straps of his book bag that he was nervous. He stopped the car and Gray got out and opened the door for us. He nodded at me, and when I hesitated he nodded again, so I got in the car.

We rode in silence for a while, but after Brian nudged him in the ribs several times, Gray turned around and faced me. He smiled at me. Then he turned around and faced front. I looked at Michael, who shrugged. Brian nudged Gray again. I mean, the family that rented your place was weird.

Why were Brian and his friend being so nice to us? Gray punched Brian in the shoulder and then winked at me. Gray faced front again and turned up the radio. He nodded his head to the beat, looking at me through the rearview mirror every once in a while. We got to school before the bus did and Gray let us out of the car. Brian and Gray ran ahead to meet some friends that were hanging out on the side of the building.

Gray kicked him hard in the shins. It was the first thing he had said since we got in the car. I knew, although we had yet to even walk through the doors of the high school, something had already changed.

I was on a diet, determined to fit into a size 6 prom dress. Getting asked to prom by a senior was a really big deal. After all that work to convince him to convince her, I had to look good. One chocolate chip cookie a day was my reward for having subsisted on yogurt, salad and carrot sticks for the past 17 days. I usually liked to have my cookie alone so that I could really savor it.

Other times, I stuffed the whole cookie in my mouth, chewing furiously like a starved animal. I even made noise. But this day was different. I was in the kitchen breaking my cookie into pieces and separating them into two piles, one pile for the pieces without chips and one pile for the pieces with chips. I had just stuffed the chip-less pieces into my mouth when my mother came in and interrupted my daily ritual.

Perhaps, I would allow myself one more to make up for this interruption. As I reached for the cookie jar, my mother put a letter on the kitchen counter beside me and leaned against the refrigerator waiting for me to read it. Fine, I wanted to say, if I read the letter, then will you go away? Instead, I impatiently pulled the letter out of the envelope, glancing quickly at the baby photo included, and skimmed it for the main ideas.

Dear Ray, blah blah blah. I tried to respect your wishes and be blah blah blah blah you leave me no choice but to write you at home. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. After you abruptly ended things blah blah I found out I was pregnant.

Blah blah daughter was born on March 11th. Her name is Cheyenne and she wants to meet her Daddy. He did it again. And this time he had gotten the poor girl pregnant. I looked down on the counter where the wallet-sized photo lay face down. I had a baby sister. As she went on and on about the trust that Daddy betrayed and all the second and third and fourth chances he had blown, I looked at her yapping, weeping mouth and hated her.

I hated her for telling me about any of this, for showing me all of this, for needing my help. The postage is stamped in Selma. How can I find her? I braced myself for a slap but she just looked at me, frozen. When I got to Church Street, I turned left and ran faster.

I hit Main Street and turned right towards the river. The post office and barber shop whizzed by. I flew right by him. I flew over the bridge, and through the trees along the river. I collapsed when I got to the cemetery on the edge of town. Sweat and mist mingled on my face and arms and, although my chest was on fire, I was cold.

I sucked it in and held it in as long as I could. I finally exhaled, and then I took another deep breath. Although it was slowing down, I could still feel my heart pulsing in my ears. I leaned over and rested my head on my muddied hands. I was not going to cry. I was just going to breathe. I was just going to rest here for a moment. I kneeled in the dirt with my forehead to the ground and as I closed my eyes, I remembered: I left my second cookie on the kitchen counter.

The capital building was only thirty-three miles away. I gripped my index cards tight, curling the edges under the weight of my palms. When Albany was 52 miles away I began to get a little nervous. At 45, I could feel butterflies doing somersaults in my stomach. Now that it was only 33 miles away, I felt like I was going to puke. I rolled down the window. Daddy tried to get me to calm down. Cheesy was good.

You know what you should be worrying about is the duet we got going on tomorrow. You used to love to sing with me. And second of all, you said the same thing about Michael. You can see it in his eyes.

Daddy had been warning me about Michael ever since he caught him snapping my bra strap the summer before 9th grade. I think he was confused.

Why are you applying to NYU all of a sudden? We decided on Northwestern, Emerson, Syracuse …. So it has nothing to do with the fact that Michael is applying to Columbia? He poked me in the ribs, but I was too busy staring out the window to sing my line so he did it for me.

Imitating my soprano, he sang in falsetto. It was my turn again. But I knew what she meant. Daddy was leaving her. Usually when Mother caught him, confronted him, he ended it. She would let him get away with it for a while. When he got too comfortable, staying out until 3 am, letting the girl call and hang up, getting sloppy, being obvious, she would threaten to leave. Daddy would have no choice but to give the other woman up, reluctantly, of course, often with tears.

Sometimes, I thought he actually loved these other women. But he loved Mother more. She trusted this. This time it was different. He went to her and confessed. And said he was leaving. I got off the phone with Mother, and called Gidget. She would know what was really going on. She lives in Syracuse. They always talk about leaving, they are constantly on the verge of leaving, but neither of them ever actually leaves.

I was not calm. I wondered if Fabian knew. He was probably too stoned to care. As a matter of fact, all my friends were probably too busy partying to listen. It was spring break and I should have been home with Gray or lying on a beach somewhere. Instead, I was in an empty dorm room so I could work and save money and be responsible. By the time Michael got to me, I was in bed.

I opened the door for him and then, without a word, crawled back in. Michael stripped down to his underwear and joined me. He deserved to know since he came all the way downtown just because I asked him to. Michael was. Michael was there, had always been there. The next day, Michael skipped class. I called in sick to work. We lay in bed until noon, talking.

Michael ate half of his bagel while I was still picking off and nibbling seeds. We jaywalked in crooked lines across the streets of Greenwich Village, dodging cabs and bike messengers. Pausing to admire the knock-off handbags and stolen watches, we wondered up and down Broadway. We browsed for hours at The Strand. Michael mumbled something about getting back to school. It was getting late. I picked up a book about Film Noir and pretended not to hear him. We stopped for slice of pizza on our way back down to Bleecker.

Not even close. Jumping on the bed. Blaring music. Who was going to complain? Smoking inside the room instead of out on the balcony. We were wild. We stopped drinking out of glasses and chugged from the bottle because it seemed more rebellious. Who makes up these rules? Do they make it up? Is God fucking with me or what? They should have separated when I was eight.

They would have sheltered me from all the ugly details. And I would be over it by now. I looked over at him and his eyes were closed. His lashes were thick and dark. His eyes fluttered open. Do you want to get in bed? He was cute curled on his side; his bottom lip twitching just a little. I wished I were really drunk, because then I could kiss him and have an excuse. I was sober, but I kissed him anyway, softly, my lips just brushing against his fuller ones. I pulled back and waited for him to open his eyes.

He was really asleep. I snuggled into him tucking my head underneath his chin, breathing on his throat. He was warm. He stirred, but quickly, before he woke up, I reached up and sucked his chin into my mouth. He awoke then and lowered his head to look at me.

I kissed him full on the mouth, hard. He opened up and I dove in deep. It just happened with Gray. He did all the work. How do I seduce someone? I stood and went to my dresser. I undressed with my back to him, wondering if he was as scared as I was. I crawled into bed, careful not to make eye contact and waited. He stripped down, taking off his underwear, and joined me. And it was as if his skin knew my skin.

My mouth recognized his mouth. He knew how to touch; I engulfed his fingers. I knew where to bite; my head was in his hands. He was snug inside, a perfect fit. We moved and it was if my body remembered his. His words were so close that they buzzed against my ear and I was inside a seashell with the breaking waves. I caught his rhythm and we rocked and climbed together, rocked and climbed. I hung on for dear life. The phone rang. It was Mother. So much for studying for the mid-term.

Three times! Three times they had to call me into the office! As I flung my legs out on the fraying carpet, I thought I would have rather listened to Gray complain about not being able to find a good job with his generic business degree. Instead, he was working at Montgomery Wards and following new career paths every day. Last week he was going to be a physician assistant. The week before last, he was going to get his MBA.

This week he was going to join the Army. Or maybe the Air Force. And then he could use the G. Bill to pay for his MBA. We could have another long conversation about the state of our friendship, our history, our future, our feelings, our fears. Everyone is talking.

He said I could take some time to get used to the idea. But that was almost a year ago. Well how long is it supposed to take to me to mourn a twenty-four year marriage? You tell me, Tabitha. We already had Gidget.

Call him and tell him to stop bothering me at work. Not much. Not like he used to. Not since Janice. It has to be you. Call him and then call me right back and tell me what he says. So, I agreed. After we hung up, I sat in the hallway looking at my slippered feet for several minutes. Julia came out into the hallway, and stepped over my legs saying that she was going to the dining hall before it closed and do I want to come.

I shook my head no. After the elevator doors closed, I picked up the phone again. It rang three times and I was grateful that Daddy was the one that finally answered. I turned it in three days ago. Daddy, listen to me. You have to be nicer to Mother.

I knew what he was about to ask of me. The elevator opened with a ding, and sat there on the fifth floor, gaping and empty with no one getting on or getting off. Convince her to sign the divorce papers. The bus smelled like my childhood. The rhythm of the rolling wheels on the slick, ploughed highway rocked me gently and by the time New York City was just a skyline behind me, I was lulled to sleep.

I opened my eyes five hours later to see the burnt out and abandoned factories of Syracuse, stark against the snow, looming over me like hollowed demons. I sat up and ran a comb through my hair, rolled some toothpaste onto my finger and brushed my teeth with my finger sucking off the excess.

I poked my pinky finger into the tiny inside pocket of my jeans and touched the ring there, a question to be answered. When I rubbed the gold, I began to panic and feel relieved at the same time, a perplexing mix of dread and longing hovered over me as we rolled into the Syracuse bus terminal. I could see him there, behind the glass doors and it felt so good to be riding the bus towards him instead of away. We sat down with sandwiches, but neither of us was eating much as we talked about my grades and my internship and my graduation plans.

We debated the pros and cons of graduate school versus gaining work experience after NYU. He reached into his trench coat pocket and pulls out a package of our favorite chocolate chip cookies, two for me, and two for him. As he broke his cookie in pieces, telling me about which cars are reliable and which are junk, I saw his ring. It was right there. On his left hand. On his ring finger. In plain view. I was trying to think. I was trying to put the pieces together. Daddy, with his hands in cookie crumbs was a caught child.

He was guilty and defiant all at once and began to clean up our sandwich wrappings and empty coke cans as if to distract me from his bad behavior. It must have been one of those soap-operas Mother and Gidget used to watch together after school. People on those shows were always running off and secretly getting married.

Not my father. Not without me. There was a pricking at the back of my eyes and I looked away. A homeless woman with matted hair walked in circles between the sandwich shop and the newsstand dragging a trash bag in one hand, and waving the other hand frantically. She was lost or looking for something or both. I sat back down. I tried to gather my bags but my shaking hands fumbled on the handles.

I pulled my coat off the back of the chair, and when I stood this time I forced myself to ignore the feeling of vertigo that rushed to greet me. What do you know about our family? What do I know about our family?

I chose you over them. I chose you. And you chose her. The vodka was making the bed spin. Too much vodka. And waited. I opened my eyes. The cotton on the inside of my comforter was beading off in some places and the light shone through it a bit making the world pink. It was really hot, the world was pink, and the sound was off. But then I heard my mother crying softly and I knew that I was in my bed, hung over, on my last day at home before I moved to California.

I pulled the comforter off my head and sat up. The light attacked my skull. Like skin cancer. What kind does he have? All cancer kills. Not if you catch it early. What did his doctor say? Your father has cancer! Why would you think something was wrong? He lifted my left ring finger, examining my diamond. It was marquis cut; exactly what I wanted. I took off the ring and hid it under an overturned public policy textbook on his nightstand.

He cradled my right leg between his. Michael rolled over on his elbows and put his palm on my chest, his fingers stretching up between my breasts. He wants you to go. I can just hop on a plane and come home if I need to. And then I felt my eyes leaking. And although I kept my eyes fixed to the watery stucco, I knew that I was in bed with Michael but that I would be gone tomorrow.

While the tenured assistants bragged about their latest finds at Fred Segal, I calculated how much money I had saved that week from my weekend video store and occasional evening telemarketing jobs. I had enough for my weekly dinner at Asia de Cuba with the girls and, if I found some good deals at Goodwill and the Fairfax Flea market, a few articles of clothing that I could dress up for work. Clothes had never been a problem before. Most temporary jobs lasted no more than a week, so I could wear the same six outfits over and over again.

Then my temp agency placed me in a longer position to replace a second assistant to a talent agent who had gotten pregnant and moved back home to Missouri. When the elevator opened everyone else rushed out to greet their freshly washed, waxed and detailed vehicles, but I stopped by the security desk to wish Rodrigo a nice weekend. When I just shook my head, he continued.

Twenty minutes was just enough time to talk to my mother. I dialed her and right after I said hello, before she could say a word, I told her to get a pen. I got the business out the way first, giving her my flight numbers and itinerary. It was the same as the previous two years.

I would fly into Syracuse on the twenty-first and stay with Daddy until the twenty-third. I made her write everything down and then I let her ask me her questions. How was my diet going? She wanted to know. The wedding was only seven months away. When I came home would I speak to Fabian about getting job?

He kept telling her to stop nagging him, but he would listen to me. When was the last time I talked to my father? He asked about me when they were on the phone the other day and it was strange that she knew more about me than he did.

Forgiveness was for me more than it was for him. And when was the last time I went to church, anyway? I arrived at the Mondrian hotel before she started quoting scripture but not before I promised to call Daddy that weekend. She was right; it had been awhile. It had been my ritual to call him every week when he was in treatment, but after he recovered from the chemotherapy and radiation treatments and the doctor pronounced him in remission, Daddy stopped worrying about his own life and began a crusade to save mine.

Sinai had lost a lot of members while Daddy was sick and the lack of members meant less people to clean his office, sweep the sanctuary and polish the stained- glass windows. When Daddy was first diagnosed the worshipers rallied around him, claiming a miracle, praising the Lord for the strength to endure the trial that was before them.

During the months when Daddy was hospitalized most of the women stopped coming altogether, and soon the men followed. There were only a couple of dozen worshippers to witness the miracle when Daddy went into remission. He hummed while he tore open the package of communion wafers. I could scarcely believe it. Secondly, you never liked him.

You always said he was too old for me. And finally, you know what happened. I broke up with him. Months ago. But I always thought that you kids would get back together. That was a nice ring he gave you. Thirty communion cups seemed like enough. I walked past the gleaming glass walls and diaphanous curtains of the hotel lobby with the confidence and grace of a starving starlet and entered into the twinkling wonderland of fashionable cuisine.

Martin nodded. I had yet to be promoted to the semi-private cream cushioned booths at the back of the restaurant, but after a year of spending way beyond my means, I at least had a table with a view. General discussion forum. Support Game technical issues.

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