The one about 2% and the NBA Jam challenge

Well, I have my first formal request. Hell, I was just happy to receive my first comment. Big days are ahead, I can feel it. Plus I have this cool counter now so I can see who's visiting my site. And to whoever from Northwestern University (or its server) is checking back often on the site, thanks for stopping by! And I'm sorry I haven't posted anything in a while, but I've been busy as hell with work and the like. I really just need to punch out a whole bunch of these in one sitting when I'm not busy and then just dole them out over time. That would probably be for the best.

So anyways, this is a short story about a fella who hails by the name of "2%". Well truthfully, he didn't call himself that, my friend Marc and I did. But he damn well planted the seed when he made the mistake of telling us that he was only made up of 2% body fat. You see, that only flies when you look like you're made up of 2% body fat. Me, I'm more like 20%, but that's neither here nor there. At least I never went around touting it. This guy... we had no idea where he was coming from. To give you an idea of what this guy looked like, the other nickname that Marc came up with for him was "fireplug".

Anyways, it was another boring night in the dorms, so Marc and I decided to fire up NBA Jam in my room. If you don't remember this game, it's the one where your players run around with either big heads or big feet and simply cannot miss a shot. You could play 2 minute quarters and still score about 150 points. And then when you made 3 shots in row, the ball would catch fire, and then you most certainly wouldn't miss. So, Marc and I would usually team up and absolutely abuse the game console in a game of 2-on-2, even with it set on the most difficult setting.

So we were good. Real good.

And then "2%" stopped by. And made the mistake of challenging our awesomeness. By himself. Now, I really didn't know this guy. I think he lived in our dorm somewhere, but I don't remember. But I'm hospitable, and I invite him in. Because I love video games, I had a four-player tap hooked up to my Sega Genesis, so we could have all sorts of folks over to step right up and test their NBA Jam aptitude.

Minutes into the "contest", it's clear that he is no match for Marc and I. Which is okay.... I never expected anything different. Then he accuses us of cheating. You see, NBA Jam has cheat codes that give your players the ability to do ridiculous things, like make shots from under your own basket or dunk from half court. We were actually being nice. We hadn't been using the cheat codes. So he challenges us again. Big mistake.. nobody accuses us of cheating and gets away with it.

This time, without speaking, we both secretly enable the cheat codes. Now it's a bloodbath. Now it's funny.

To add to it, Marc starts taunting him.

"What's up 2%?"

"How ya like that 2%?"

"What's up fireplug?"

Now tears are streaming down my face. We're obliterating him and now we've moved on to trash talking. I can't do it though. I can't even talk. After the game is over, he drops the controller down and storms out.

I don't think we ever saw him again. At least I didn't.