So, this episode of Top Tier Tips may be a few weeks late. And by few, I mean four. But, in my defense, I spent the entire last month planning and running a tri-platform, global, multiplayer tournament. With my ridiculous excuses out of the way, it’s time to check the inbox and start helping all those people who so desperately needed T3 assistance back in July.
What problems did they face? What answers will I give? And which next of kin family member will be around to receive the advice? Find out below!
Dear Whoever the hell is going to answer this.
Ive been wondering something about spy disguises for a while. A specific disguise. Scout. WHY WOULD YOUU USEEE IT? I’ve never used it, except when I somehow stab a scout with the eternal reward. So what can I use it for, just crouch walking? Standing still?
In general, there are three reasons to use a Scout disguise.
First, a Scout disguise means that one can set up a scenario wherein the Spy has sexual intercourse with a woman who is under the impression of having seduced her own son. It’s essentially the closest one can have to an oedipal fantasy come true without actual incest occurring.
Second, a Scout disguise is generally a strong choice because teammates are used to seeing Scouts accomplish absolutely nothing. In that regard, one can disguise as a Scout and spam annoying voice commands for minutes at a time without drawing nary a suspicion.
Finally, Scout disguises encourage Spies to use the ‘1’ key more often. So often, even expert Spies ignore the ‘1’ key, opting instead to only use their knife of choice in matters of combat. This is a grave mistake. Luckily, Scout masking requires pressing the ‘1’ key (even twice with the “simplified” disguise menu!), making it more likely a saboteur amateur will unwittingly equip and possibly even use his revolver the next time he’s attacked. It’s basic psychology.
Thank you and the crew for answering my previous question, as it was most enlightening. But now, I must ask you this. Since we have found that Binerexis has the MOST self worth, who amongst your crew of rambunctious rogues and kind hearted ne-er-do-wells has the least self worth. I ask simply because this time, I have a feeling that in a discussion like this, Lulz would ensue, and it might make a good recording/article on the sight.
My name may or may not be more important than last time
Dear This Is A Month Late So Who Cares,
I, Xiant have the least self-worth. If you check my Steam profile: http://
I was given money by a family member that I was supposed to buy him bus tickets with. I then chose to instead use that money to purchase AC:B, since it was on a gigantic steam sale (and I had only one hour left before the sale ends). I figured I could possibly use the money then and re-pay it later.
This family member noticed it appear on my steam account and asked me when I bought it. I cleverly used my infinite wisdom and quick wits to devise a complex tale in which I won a pony-drawing competition and was awarded any steam game of my choice. Though I was only joking at first, he actually bought it and I decided to slide with it and dodge the bullet.
I realize I still need to get him the bus tickets by tomorrow and I’m completely broke at the moment. The game itself is ripping my fragile conscious with guilt and I can’t even bring myself to play it (as much as I want to).
I’m telling you this because I blame ~you~, Wing, for influencing me into this deed. You should totally satirize up this situation so I can cheer up a little.
-Anxiously, a Terrible, Terrible Person.
I’m going to assume that in the course of the last month, your friend and quite possibly all your friends have disowned you. While I have no evidence to support this statement, it seems like a fair guess since your activities include playing video games and following the drivel I put out.
Since you didn’t ask a question, I’m going to instead tell you a story.
In my earlier days, before I met Elle (AKA Mrs. TT), I was enjoying dinner at a 50s style hop in New Jersey. For those of you unfamiliar with a hop, think “that Arnold’s restaurant from Happy Days.” If you still don’t get it, you’re probably half my age.
Anyway, I’m sitting there listening to the “juke box” play “records” while we drink authentic Cherry Cokes and the overwhelming urge to urinate creeps up on me. This isn’t an escapable feeling, so I pardon myself from my group of friends and head to the latrine. On my way in, I nearly break my ankle due to the awkwardly steep entry step (who puts a step down into a bathroom?) and lock the door with one of those rusty old slide-across-then-down style latches. I guess that’s what they had in the 50s, along with Cold War paranoia.
Anyway, I do my business and then proceed to wash my hands (I was feeling hygienic that day), but no water is coming from the sink. I continue to turn the knob, until it comes off the sink. While I stared in disbelief, a fucking fountain of H20 began streaming out of the now gaping faucet socket. Within seconds, I was soaked in water, as I desperately searched for a shut-off valve or another means of stopping the torrent of hydration. It was of no use. Worse still, the bathroom had no floor drain so a small lake was quickly accumulating. I was already up to my ankles in water, and from the waist up I looked like a Japanese porn star. In other words, I was half Asian.
Of course, the splattering fluid was compounded by the fact that the bathroom was actually in its own lower level below the entrance, allowing water to now build up several inches. And as I casually went to open the door and ask for help, I noticed it. And by “it” I mean an electrical socket now 1 inch above the rising water line.
Now, I don’t know for a fact that I would die when the water reached the socket, but I was not fucking interested in finding out. I pulled at the door, remembering quickly that it was locked. But as I pulled at the lock, my wet, slippery hands flopped off it ineffectually. Between the decreased traction from the still-spraying sink fountain and the 50-year old layers of rust on the lock, it was not going to move. I was going to be electrocuted in a fucking gimmick restaurant, and I hadn’t even washed my hands before being sent to the great beyond.
I clawed at the lock desperately. The water was higher now. It was almost at the goddamn grounding portion of the socket. I punched the door, screaming. I was kicking and screaming and pulling, and all I could think was that I was going to die and nobody could hear me screaming over the sound of Barry Manilo crooning on the jukebox. Or that the ridiculously loud splashing was drowning out my pleas before decided to drown out my lungs. Also, electricity hurts, so fuck everything about that.
In what must have been divine mercy, another kick jostled the lock. Insane with fear, I slammed the bolt over and dived… yes… dived out of the bathroom, onto the hop floor. I can only image the sight to all the other patrons, and my friends. A crazed man, completely soaked in water is sliding across the floor screaming… jumping from a bathroom that is utterly flooded.
Everyone stared. I rose slowly and said, in exasperated semi-choked phrases, “I… just… can you… turn… off… the water?”
* A friendly reminder to our readers: I’m not the only person capable of responding to inane, long-winded questions. ~WiNG